Captive in a Sanctuary
by SymphonyinA
Summary: Conflicted and confused after the events beneath the opera house, Christine changes her mind. But is this an act of love, pity, or madness? E/C, musical-based
1. Chapter 1: Right and Wrong

_"_ Christine?" Raoul asked, still wheezing and barely on his feet as he offered a weak hand to me. "Christine, we have to go."

I stared blankly at him, then back at the candles flickering a little ways off.

"Christine," he said again, more insistent.

I removed the ring from my finger, the curious one set with a black stone on silver.

"I have to return this," I whispered, turning to him.

He stared at me in bewilderment before acquiescing.

"Alright..." he told me breathlessly. "Alright, be careful, I'll watch you."

I nodded, holding up the white skirts that weren't mine in one hand. Raoul followed a short distance behind me, until I came upon the phantom, my angel of music... my friend... a murderer...

Oh, how broken he looked! He was weeping over that Persian monkey, curled up on his knees like a child. My heart gave way and I took a few more steps forward until he turned around swiftly, his eyes widening as he realized who it was.

I extended the ring to him so he would know my purpose and not be hopeful. For a moment, I considered running back to Raoul, but my angel seemed so completely and utterly broken that I didn't fear him.

He rose, dazed, coming over to me. Then he placed his hands over mine, and I turned, my heart now palpitating with fear rather than pity. Would he release me?

I felt him remove the ring from my hands, and he told me softly, "Christine... I love you."

I forgot to breathe. My head was spinning, what had he said? Did he understand now? But I was going with Raoul, I had to go with Raoul! I didn't understand, why would I stay? Why was I considering that?

 _But how could I leave him?_

I withdrew from my angel, and his hands fell limp and allowed mine to slip out of his grasp. My eyes were welling up with tears as I returned to Raoul, who clutched me to himself for comfort.

"You're so brave," he whispered. "We need to go home now, and everything will be alright."

I nodded blankly as he helped me up into the boat. It rocked beneath me, causing me to nearly lose my balance and fall into the opaque water, but I kept myself upright.

"Sit down, Raoul," I told him lifelessly. "Let me get us across; you need to rest."

His blue eyes flickered with refusal, but he collapsed upon the prow, still quite exhausted. I began to push the boat along, but then glanced back, and for a moment, hesitated.

"Christine?" He said, confused. "What's wrong? I'll push if you ca-"

"I can't leave him," I told him, my hands beginning to tremble. "I can't, I can't!"

He stood up shakily, "You need to be free, Christine, you can't stay with him. He's a murderer, remember?... You're not well, what all has he done to you-?"

I started to cry weakly, "But I can't leave h-him."

"Darling, why not?"

"Because it's not right-"

"He killed people, hurt you-"

"I don't understand!" I cried. "Angel! Angel!"

"Shh!" Raoul clapped a hand over my mouth and held me against him, sitting down in the middle of the boat. "Shh, we need to go home, then you can think this all over clearly... Please, Christine, just listen to me. I was nearly murdered by this man. And you were tricked by him, manipulated, all these horrible things."

I sobbed harder into his soaked and ruined shirt. His hands were shuddering with fatigue as they ran through my hair to calm me.

"He nearly murdered me," he explained, "and did murder two others. You've given him far more than he deserves, far, far more. You are the most wonderful woman- person- I've ever met, I promise... Please, we have to go back now."

I nodded blankly, "We have to go back..."

"Let me have the oar."

I lied down at the front of the prow, disorientated by my own mind. My angel had let me go... He had let me go... Was he good, then? Did that redeem him from all he had done?

But he had nearly murdered Raoul... I loved Raoul... but I loved... I loved...

What would my father say? If he were here, what would he tell me to do?

The right thing. But what on earth was the right thing?! Was I to go and live out my life in love with Raoul, though possibly stripping him of his status? I had always thought what I was doing to Raoul was wrong. After all, I was a chorus girl... People would talk... We would have love, but so much to struggle through, for him especially...

But how could I return to a murderer? How could I have any fondness for him? It defied logic and explanation. I both feared him and loved him and pitied and despised, I... I was too exhausted to understand my own soul!

"Raoul?" I asked weakly, breaking the stillness.

"Yes, my love?" He replied.

"Thank you."

"I love you... You don't need to thank me for love-"

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"What for?"

I stared up at him miserably.

He ceased pushing the boat along, "You're considering... going _back_?"

"I'm sorry-"

"Christine, do you not truly love me?" He pleaded. "Am I just the boy who fetched your scarf still, a memory? I-I don't even mind if I am, leave me if you must, but you cannot return to him. He'll hurt you- look at what you're wearing-"

"He didn't force me into it-"

"He nearly forced you into marriage. He made you wear it, and he would've- Please, don't go back, I'll die if I know you're with him. I'll die, please, you don't have to love me-"

"I love you. I love you more than..." But I faltered.

"You don't love him, Christine," he sighed. "Listen to me, you don't love him-"

"Just because you love me, Raoul, my darling Raoul, it doesn't mean you understand my heart."

"I... I won't let you. He's driven you mad, Christine, he nearly murdered me-"

"He repented-"

"Please," Raoul begged. "Please, don't you know what he'll do to you?"

"You only care about my purity?" I retorted.

"No, no, that's not, of course not... But Christine, what if he falls out of love with you, out of his obsession?"

"How could he? Who has ever loved him-?"

"You don't know how he'll behave once he has you as his wife, after all the lies he's fed you." He said gently, overwhelmed with fear for me. "How can you think of risking that? He'll want all of you. You told me you feared him-"

"I don't fear him now... And you can't force me to remain."

He was crying now, "Of course I c-can't... But he won't let you go if you change your mind."

I shook my head, "No, he won't... But he loves me. I'm all he has, all he's ever had-"

"We have to go." He told me as the boat hit the stone shore. "We have to leave here-"

"G-get off of the boat Raoul," I pleaded weakly, standing up.

"No... No, Christine-"

"Get off... _please_."

"I won't let him hurt you! He'll hurt you, and... and he's probably run away by now, or been found."

"Found..." I mouthed, horrified. "I have to see him, I have to find him."

"Then let's go up and hope the police have caught him."

"But they'll kill him!" I pleaded.

"He's murdered multiple people and nearly me!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

He placed his hands about mine, "I'm sorry, too, for all of this... Let's go home, rest, and it'll be better. You're not well, we both aren't, why should we be..."

"Okay... Okay, let's go back."

"I love you, you're safe now, and I love you."

"I love you... too."

We were confronted by the police immediately upon reaching the main hallway.

"Monsieur le vicomte!" One said, the mustached man from earlier that had led the attempted capture. "Where have you been? Where's the man?"

"You haven't caught him?" Raoul replied, clinging to me as I buried myself in his side, afraid of letting go and losing him.

"No, monsieur. Although there was a group of people that may have, we'll have to see."

"Do you need my account?"

"Account, monsieur?"

"Yes, after Mademoiselle Daaé was abducted, I went after her."

"Is the mademoiselle well enough to speak herself?"

I shook my head, devoid of words, and Raoul rubbed my arm consolingly.

"But I can do well enough," Raoul said.

"Do we need to add to his list of crimes?"

"Yes, attempted murder of me, and... Christine, my darling, is there anything specific he did to you?"

"No," I mouthed.

"He tried to force her into marriage," Raoul continued.

"I don't believe we can list that as a crime, only assault."

"No," I said swiftly. I wouldn't have him accused of that.

"Are you writing this down, Claude?" The policeman asked a young man behind him, who was holding a pencil and paper.

"Yes, monsieur," Claude replied.

The policeman gave me a look of sympathy, "You can return home, monsieur, thank you. Will you give a full testimony in court?"

"Both of us will," Raoul said, glancing down at me.

I nodded in tired agreement.

"We'll apprehend him, I can assure you." The policeman told us. "He cannot hide easily... Is there anything more we can do for you, mademoiselle?"

"No, gentlemen," Raoul replied on my behalf, "thank you for your efforts."

He helped me into his brougham, which was waiting outside in the dark. The sky was covered in dense clouds, and I felt quite blind in the midst of it. I knew Raoul was as terrified as I that my angel had not been apprehended, and had he been, I would have been free to remain with Raoul.

"It'll be alright now," he told me softly, kissing my forehead.

"I'm so sorry for what happened to you," I replied, the words having remained in my mouth for far too long. "I'm so sorry-"

"Shh, don't be. We're alright now. We're going to go to my house, a ways from the opera house, and I think a bath is in order for you, and perhaps a bit of laudanum to help you sleep. Then in the morning we can think through it all together."

I held him closer, "I love you, Raoul, thank you."

I was in his arms the whole ride, even when the road was uneven. I wasn't afraid, but I wasn't content. I knew this was wrong. Something inside me was uneasy, and I knew why.

I had to go back to my angel.

I had to go back whether I wanted to or not. I knew I could never have peace with Raoul, though I loved him deeply and wished I could remain with him forever. But that couldn't happen now, not after everything, not when I knew that I couldn't possibly stay.

My father had always told me that kindness was the only way to live by, and that kindness was treating people better than they deserved. Erik deserved nothing, not after everything, but he... he wanted to try again, didn't he? People deserve second chances, and I doubted anyone had offered him such a thing...

Oh, but I wanted to remain with Raoul and forget the whole, miserable world! To forget people who weren't considered deserving of kindness... To be without worries, without fear... without music, though... without _him._

I had to go back _._


	2. Chapter 2: Resurrection

I paced the rich carpet in my stockings and the lace nightgown Raoul had found for me, the hem of which dragged on the floor, rustling against the dark floorboards.

It was past midnight, and I still had not slept, not even after the hot bath and a tonic with laudanum. I wanted desperately to be with Raoul, in bed with him, but the servants would see that and gossip... and it wasn't right before marriage, even if nothing occurred...

But I couldn't bear being alone. Not for my last night with him.

I treaded lightly down the hallway, from the fine guest room I was staying in. There were a few windows casting a dull glow on the crimson carpet, but past that, pure darkness.

In a sudden flash of panic, I darted to Raoul's door and didn't even bother knocking. It was unlocked, and after coming inside his room, I shut the door quietly behind myself and went up to his bed.

Why was everything so magnificent in his home? His furnishing were rich and ornate, everything that could be golden was, all antiques, fine, decorous. The bed swallowed him up in decadent patterns and plush pillows.

"Raoul?" I whispered.

He gave a start, panting, then passed a hand over his forehead.

"Did you have a nightmare?" I asked.

"Yes..." he replied, then in concern, "Did you?"

"No, I can't sleep... The laudanum did me no good."

"I'm sorry..."

"May I sleep-?"

"Here? Of course," he said, relieved, "extenuating circumstances and all, no one would care about it, after everything."

He shifted over, but it made little difference; the bed was enormous. I slipped under the covers, and, after a moment of hesitation, wrapped myself about him. He kissed my forehead.

"You're perfectly safe now," he whispered.

"And you," I replied tiredly. "I'm so sorry that I-"

"You were perfect, kind and brave, and intelligent, all at once. Don't apologize for what happened, you did the best you could, far better than I would have... We're together now, that's what matters. Safe together."

I nuzzled into him. "I love you... I love you, Raoul, my darling Raoul."

"I love you, too. More than I can say."

I shifted a bit in his arms to find a comfortable position, so he pulled me to his chest and wrapped an arm about me.

"Is that better?" He asked, his voice a little nervous.

I nodded, my eyes already growing heavy.

 _Christine, I love you..._

My eyes snapped open. Sunlight bled through the curtains of his five windows, signaling that it was morning.

I attempted to slide off the bed without waking Raoul, but he stretched out his arms and yawned, so I fell back onto the bed. Feeling rather playful, as love had that affect on me often, I slid over top of him.

"Good morning," I said happily.

"Good morning, my love," he replied, reaching up to cup my cheek.

"I never want to leave here..."

"Well, you'll live here soon."

"No," I said, hesitating. Then I smiled, "This bed, I mean."

"Don't you want breakfast?"

"I wish we could have it in here..." I whispered, melancholy.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"I need to go home."

"Isn't this your home?"

"I-I need to get my things, I mean."

"Oh, of course, sorry, I... Do you have money for a brougham?"

"No, nothing."

"I'll give you some after breakfast."

I nodded, then reached up and brought his lips down to mine. My memory of the _other_ kiss made me pull away, but Raoul knew nothing of this, and had his arm about me. Then he quickly released me, and I hugged myself, unable to bring myself to look at him.

"Christine, my love?" He asked softly. "I'm sorry, I... I tried to forget, and... I assume you must be upset over that-"

"It's not your fault, Raoul, I'm sorry..."

A question formed on his lips. I knew he wanted to ask what the purpose of the other kiss had been, but had he asked, I would have not known what to say. The first kiss had been terrifying, as I thought _he_ would shove me away and berate me. The second... the second was because of his eyes when I pulled away from the embrace. No one had ever given him anything like that before... So I gave him another, and that one... That one was tender and sweet, full of love from him and pity from me. And then he pushed me away, though I knew he didn't want to. I knew he didn't...

"Christine?" Raoul asked.

"Hm? Sorry, I was thinking," I replied, glancing down at my uneaten breakfast.

The morning had flown by with my thoughts.

"How long will it take you?" He asked. "To get your things?"

"Maybe an hour," I said softly, my stomach churning.

That was not a lie, but I would not be returning here. I was going to find my angel. The police had not caught him yesterday, but I knew he was hiding under the opera house... Where else could he be?

But what if I changed my mind, from fear, and he wouldn't let me leave a second time?

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Raoul asked in concern.

"Yes, I'll be fine. It's only an hour... I think it would do me well to be alone for some time."

"Whatever you need."

He kissed my forehead and ran a hand over my cheek, which I held.

"I love you," he told me, full of trust.

"I love you, too," was my soft reply, my stomach twisting again with regret and confusion.

I had a note tucked into my bodice that I would leave for him in my apartment. He had to know why I couldn't stay. He had to know how much I loved him.

But I had to go back. I couldn't stay with him, not for the rest of my life, knowing that I could have done so much more. And surely Raoul would find another woman, one without her head in the clouds, one who would love him with her whole heart, and allow him his title and status.

So I went home, to my little two-room apartment with a single grimy window. I had not minded the conditions, not even realized how poor I was until I had seen where Raoul lived. In Sweden, my father and I had lived wherever we could find. And when he became famous, even then we lived in a cozy little apartment, until his death a few years later.

I had spent most of my small inheritance on his grave, then put the rest away. Now I was going to retrieve this- around two hundred francs- and find my angel.

After I had packed my little suitcase with a spare dress (a green one of mine, not the dark blue one Raoul had purchased) and a few other necessities, I hastened out the door. I cast a final glance upon the room, finding the creaky single bed, the black stove, and the one book I had left behind: a frivolous romance. I was bringing my Bible only, should I need direction.

After placing my note for Raoul where he would find it, and kissing it, I whispered a goodbye to the place, my hands beginning to tremble.

The journey to the opera house was miserable. I wanted so desperately to run back to Raoul, but I knew that had to be wrong. I was taking everything he knew away from him. I was terrible for loving him, how selfish I was! And now I would make it all right.

But... I didn't want to give myself fully to my angel. What if Raoul was right? Would he want simple companionship, as I hoped, or...? I knew he wanted more, but he could be content with my soul, without needing anything else... Couldn't he?

The brougham halted, and I accidentally dropped the coins onto the pavement before paying the driver. Then he rolled away, and I turned to face the front of the opera house.

I felt like it would swallow me up.

I hurried inside, trying not to allow myself time to think, to change my mind. There were a few policemen, but they were deep in conversation with a poor, distraught Carlotta, and I went unnoticed.

My dressing room was unlocked. I hastened through the mirror, and began my descent into the dark with a single candle for company. It was entirely vacant, not a rat to be seen, and certainly not a person.

What would I do when I found the lake? Call for him?

When I reached the bottom of the infinite stairs, I nearly tripped, crying out. My frightened voice echoed around me, and I heard a reply:

"Christine...?"

I spun around, backing up against the wall. I had to go back, I had to go back! I couldn't do this! I wasn't brave enough!

"Why are you here?" my angel inquired, his voice drifting in and out of my ears, but from where I knew not.

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

"Have you come to torment me?" he asked tiredly. "Where is your husband?"

"I came back," I replied with a surprising amount of calmness.

Silence.

"Angel?" I whispered.

"Why would you do a foolish thing like that?"

I shivered. "What do you mean?"

"You want to see me?"

"Yes... I do... W-where are you?"

"In the walls..." he told me, pensive and resigned. "I had hoped to die of love and haunt this place as a true opera ghost, but of course, this will suffice for now... Follow my voice, if you wish." It began to drift forward at a leisurely pace. "This way, Christine, my angel. But tell me, as you follow, why are you here? Do you know?"

I shook my head, then realized he couldn't see me. "Not entirely."

He sighed, "I expected as much, if you were ever to return to bade me farewell... Stop, here."

He emerged from a dark spot in the wall, a shadow come to life. His entire face was covered by a black mask, and his clothes were the same hue, same as before.

"May I?" he asked, extending his hands to me.

I gave him mine, and he felt my ring finger, so I snatched my hands away.

"He hasn't given you one yet?" he said, confused. "Tell me he hasn't abandoned you, tell me-"

"He hasn't... I... I left."

"Left? Well, go back, then."

"But I..."

"Why did you leave him? Surely you're not-?" His eyes flickered, and his voice turned harsh. "Have you come to torment me? Is that why?"

He grabbed me and pulled me into the wall through the opening, which shut. I was breathing hard, terrified and trembling.

"No," I managed out. "N-no, I haven't come to torment you."

"Then why?" he asked miserably. "Why?"

"I came to... leave with you."

Silence.

"Leave with me?..." he said, his voice hushed with wonder. "What do you mean? You... you can't possibly... You will marry me?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"But?"

I bit my lip. "I'll give you companionship. I'll love you, but not-"

"Yes, that's reasonable," he told me softly. "Quite reasonable, I ought to have terrified you by now with... I'm hallucinating, aren't I?"

He grabbed my face and felt both sides, staring at me through the holes of his black mask. Then he released me.

"You're real," he whispered. "You're real, Christine, m-my... Mine, now, yes?"

I hesitated, but replied, "Yours."

"Mine... But why? You don't love me... Is this merely a show of pity from you?"

"No, I love you."

"As a friend, though, not a lover."

"More than a friend."

"More than a friend..." he whispered, filling with hope. "Come with me, we'll leave here, I need to plan." He began to take me through the tunnel. "We need to plan... I-I have a house ready, but not exactly, I had never truly thought- but then I had, of course- and you'll need dresses and things, and I'll have to withdraw all my money- although most of it's there, in a safe- oh, Christine, my Christine, promise you'll marry me. Promise!"

"I promise," I told him, quite faint with doubt.

"You won't leave..." he said softly, in awe, before continuing to ramble as we went through tunnels. "And the house, it's not beautiful or extravagant by any means, but it's enclosed on all sides by a forest, close to the Belgian border, absolutely lovely, and there's a lake, better than this, clear and filled with animals and such- do you like books? That's all that's in that house now, lots of books, and a piano, very out of tune, but I'll remedy that- your bedroom, I finished that already, it's small, but lovely, lovely, all in white and pale blue, with a big window overlooking the backyard- do you like raising animals? Gardening? There's a chicken coop and a little overgrown field back there-"

"What's your name?"

He paused. "My name?"

"Yes, if I'm to marry you, I should know your name."

"I named myself," he said softly, his pace slowing, "once I had forgotten my first... Erik."

"Erik... You forgot your first?"

His grip on my hand tightened. "Let's not discuss that, best not to... Here we are, I apologize for the mess, but I was hoping to die soon, so I hope you understand. It's all I could salvage from those wretched people, although they had a reason, I suppose..."

It was a small alcove, a hiding place, glowing with candles as the other. There was a desk in the corner covered in ink and paper, and even the floor below this was coated. Some were damp, probably from being rescued from the lake. His bed was a mass of blankets in the other corner, and on a plain mahogany table lay his violin beside its bow.

"I have some things to pack," he told me, hurrying around the room.

For a few minutes, he was frantically placing shirts and waistcoats (all of which had been in an organized pile), pants and socks, among others, into a case far larger than mine. Then suddenly, he ceased, relaxing as he sat on the floor.

His eyes met mine, through the holes in his mask, and they were glossy and pitiful.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"You're here," he croaked. "You're not going to leave..."

I placed myself beside him, offering my arms. It didn't seem like he knew what to do with them, so I pulled him gently to my chest.

"I'm not going to leave," I whispered as we both began to cry. "I won't leave you..."

"I'm a murderer..." was his soft reply.

"But you don't want to be, so we can go away and forget that. Let me forget that, forgive you... May I remove your mask?"

There was no reply, so I did so and continued to hold him against me. After a while of clutching and sobbing, I heard him murmur something.

"What is it?" I asked gently.

"You're so soft," he replied. "Oh, w-wait, don't let me cry, I need to..." He rose suddenly and glanced around, putting his hand on his deformity to conceal it. "Damn, where is-? Forgive me, I didn't mean to curse, I forgot- damn, where did I put it...?"

"The ring?"

"Yes, the ring... It's in my desk, that's where."

He retrieved it, and brought it to me, helplessly lost.

"A-are you going to go down on one knee?" I offered. "I promise not to say 'no' this time."

Was he trembling? Yes, certainly he was.

"Will you marry me, Christine?" he asked, staring up at me with fear in his eyes.

"Yes." I replied, smiling as I extended my hand to him. Then I retracted it. "That is, if you remove your hand from your face."

He did so, and I offered my hand anew. He slid the ring up my finger, the curious one with a black stone and silver setting, then bent down to kiss it after a moment of hesitation.

"I'm dreaming again," he whispered, clasping my hand delicately. "I'm dreaming..."

"I'm here. It's not a dream."

"But you are a dream, the most wonderful dream... Perhaps a nightmare... You didn't bring the wedding dress, did you?"

"I... I threw it away, for Raoul."

He sighed, "Yes, I expected so... I'm done packing, I think, I'll carry yours-"

"No, it's fine-"

"But don't men carry women's effects?"

"Yes, they do."

"I would quite like to carry yours and mine, if you understand me."

"I do. Thank you very much."

He bent down to pick mine up. I clutched my arm and glanced at the exit, then examined my ring as he closed his suitcase and clicked shut the clasps.

"There," he said happily, standing up fully. His face fell in seeing me doubting myself, and his gaze shifted to the wall. "You should go."

"What? Why?"

"You don't love me, you'll be miserable, I couldn't bear it-"

"But I can't go back to Raoul!" I pleaded, my voice quavering. "I can't go back, I'm not... I'm not good enough, I'm not a... a vicomtesse, I'm a chorus girl, and... and his family could disown him, and I would have ruined _everything_. How could I take all that away from him? And away from you?"

"You don't love me, though. You have not said that you love me."

"But I will, I think, after a time, I will truly love you. I have to. We are bound together in many ways, after all."

"Are you well?" he inquired. "Are you quite well? Yesterday you nearly killed the boy so that you could escape me, and now you come back, fully willing to _marry_ me? Marry _this_?"

"I... I know... I'm sorry."

He sighed, "You're too kind and gentle, Christine... That's all this is, kindness, and perhaps a bit of madness... I'm going to take you away from the world, you know. You're going to live in a house with me until I die, then you'll be free to do as you please... Is that what you want? We'll have music for company, but other than that, only us two."

"I... I think I want that."

He grabbed my hand and removed the ring, "Leave, then! Leave, you wonderful being, leave! If you're not certain, go! You want to only see this hideous face the rest of your life? Hear my voice in your head, the voice that _sings_ _songs_ _in_ _your_ _head_? A day ago you would've died rather than do such a thing!"

"Because I thought you were going to hurt me!" I cried. "And you did hurt me. I'm covered in bruises from you, and after you let me go I knew..." I shook my head. "You won't hurt me now."

"I don't want to hurt you... and I didn't then, I was only... You understand why I was furious, though that's no excuse for harming you, there is no excuse for that..." His eyes cleared. "Are you marrying me so that you can have music?" he wondered aloud, still at odds with why I would return. "Is that why?"

"I could never part with your music... but I do love you, as a dear friend."

"If you insist... You keep insisting... I love you, Christine, more than anything."

"I know you do."

"Then you're coming? Honestly coming? This isn't a dream?"

"Yes, I'm coming. It's not a dream."

Perhaps I almost wished it was. My mind refused to agree with my heart about what my desires truly were. Logic told me I ought to remain with Raoul and not risk going somewhere with Erik, but my heart... my heart was somewhere else entirely, somewhere I could not see. It wanted me here, though. I wanted to be here, with him. It felt right.


	3. Chapter 3: Home

"How long will it take?" I asked as Erik helped me into a stagecoach.

"Around three days to Saint-Quentin," he replied, more softly as others stepped in.

He was wearing a full mask that almost matched his skin tone, but was slightly darker. Our story was that he was badly burned, and we are going to visit his family before the wedding. I didn't know how this would succeed. He, however, seemed quite confident.

"Where is that?" I asked. "Saint-Quentin?"

"About three-fourths of the way between here and Belgium. Then once we're there I'm going to buy a horse and cart and we'll go to our house."

He mouthed the words 'our house' again, to be sure they were real.

We were stiff for the journey, and unable to eat much when we stopped. I couldn't remember what all I ate for those three days, only that I wanted to run back to Raoul in a heartbeat most of the time, though I knew I couldn't, and moreover, shouldn't. I had gone too far now to turn back, and he had given me nothing to fear yet.

We spent the nights in inns, occupying separate rooms. Erik came in early each morning with breakfast for me, and he sat at the edge of my bed, as if trying to confirm that this was reality. Once he said that he thought he had died and somehow gone to heaven. This had withdrawn a small laugh from me and, from him, a gentle smile beneath his mask.

But he was not a changed man overnight. A lifetime of having no one had made him desperate for my attention at all times. He clung to me around other people, became irritable when I met the gaze of other men, and seemed to enjoy telling me what to say and do. He talked often about buying pretty things for me, dresses and the like, in a similar way to a child with a doll. His view of marriage was confused, too, especially compared to mine. Marriage had always been companionship to me, a person to confide in and be affectionate with. For him, it seemed he thought of it as caring for me, and even so, he seemed perfectly content with the idea of adoring me, playing for me, buying me gifts and flowers. It didn't seem terrible, but I feared becoming less human to him: an angel or a doll.

It was only on the fourth day, when we were getting into the cart he had purchased, that I decided I couldn't go on with his tight grip on my arm or hand whenever a man happened to glance over at me. Other sets of eyes had lingered on me longer than he permitted all day, and I was finally irritated enough to confront him.

"I know you are very happy that we are engaged," I told him as it began to roll along the dirt road, "and I am glad of it, but I can look at whomever I choose still."

"Of course, why can't you?" he said, adjusting the reins.

"Whenever I look at a man, you seem upset. You hold me tighter."

"I've never had someone for my own, my Christine, I assume you can understand why I prefer to draw your gaze... Though I'm not much to look at even in this mask."

"I hate that mask."

"People prefer it."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Well, if it makes you more comfortable to wear it, then I will say that the other is more flattering, if you must wear one."

He chuckled quietly, "I designed it as best I could, but flattering a face does not make it handsome... Do you want to lie down in the back? Take a nap?"

"It's rather rough on this road."

"There's a blanket, the one I bought."

"I'm fine, but thank you."

"If you insist."

We sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the brown horse's steps and rolling of wheels on dirt and rocks. Then I asked softly, "When is the wedding?"

"When we arrive in town."

"But I'm wearing blue."

"A few decades ago that was perfectly acceptable."

"But-"

"My dear, you look lovely. I don't mind."

"I mind."

"Well, the wedding dress I bought has been misplaced, so there is nothing to do about that."

"I'm sorry about that."

"No, don't be. You shouldn't have kept it."

"Raoul was adamant-"

"Don't say his name," he told me firmly.

I blinked, stunned, "Excuse me?"

"Is that too large of a request, for a husband to ask his wife not to speak of past lovers?"

"No, of course not, but-"

"Then we are understood."

I opened my mouth to argue, but shut it, choosing to swallow my indignity. It _was_ a reasonable request, in a sense. Why remind him of my former lover?

We stopped a few times to allow the horse and ourselves some rest, and I fed her an apple Erik had bought us. The mare was young, with a white splotch on her nose and glossy dark-brown hair. She nearly took my hand off with the apple, but I beamed and kissed her nose.

"She's a sweet horse," I told Erik.

"I didn't know you had such a fondness for horses."

"I didn't know either. I've never had one... I'm more used to cows, actually."

"And reindeer?" he teased cautiously.

"I've only seen a few of those in my life, actually. They're so beautiful, though. The males especially, as they have fur on their neck that's longer, and it fades from gray to brown, and their antlers are fuzzy... I never was allowed to touch any, though, as they could bite."

"I've seen reindeer, my dear... I lived in Russia for a time."

"Oh... is it nice there?"

"If you don't mind the cold, it can be beautiful... at times." He began to fasten the horse back to the cart, then suddenly asked, "Do you want pets?"

"Yes, I think so... Did you say something before about chickens?"

"I did, but you're fine with killing them?"

"Well, I eat chicken, don't I? And actually, I did kill one once, as a girl, for a farmer in Sweden, because I was curious. Raoul was horribly-" But I ceased. "Why can't I mention him as a friend?"

"Because I don't want to be reminded of him."

"But Erik, he's my friend. That's all he is now, and I can mention him as such, I should think."

He refused to meet my gaze. "Get back in the cart, we need to leave-"

"No," I told him firmly, crossing my arms for emphasis.

"Excuse me?"

"You can't tell me what to say and do. I want an answer to my question."

"So you wish to torment me, then? You've come to marry me and talk about that boy to cause me misery?"

"No, of course not, I- Erik!" I cried out. "Put me down, put me down!"

He set me onto the cart, pinning me to his side and coaxing the horse to go. I squirmed.

"Erik, please, let me go," I pleaded. "Let me go, that wasn't necessary!"

"Don't mention him again," he told me, bristling with fury, but releasing me. "You promised to marry me, not him."

"But as a friend-"

"Do you know what the vows are?" he questioned.

"What does that have to do with-? No. Not exactly. I've never been to a French wedding."

"You'll find out soon, then, in a matter of hours now... Go lie down back there and sleep."

"I'm not tired. Why won't you let me say anything?"

"Just go lie down," he said with resignation, his eyes glistening.

I slipped into the back of the cart, then wrapped my cloak about myself and began to cry. This had been a terrible idea! He wouldn't let me say Raoul's name, who knew what he would restrict next? How foolish I had been!

"Are you crying?" he asked, after I had been for at least ten minutes.

"No," I replied, sniffling.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he said earnestly. "You can sit up here if you like. By the way you were talking, you sounded tired is all."

"I'm tired of traveling is all. Perhaps I should rest... I hope we're there soon."

"Not too much longer now. Are you anxious?"

"I'm a bit nervous is all."

"For the wedding?"

"We hardly know each other and are getting married."

"You decided it."

"I did..."

His jaw tightened. "You sound regretful still. I don't understand why you have come with me only to glance back over your shoulder with longing."

"I had to come here."

"Under whose authority?"

"My own."

"Then be firm with your decision."

"I wish it were so easy..." I glanced back towards the winding road. "I'm going to go rest now."

I clambered into the back of the cart and wrapped myself up in a blanket, wiping a few dried tears away that I had missed. I fell asleep to the harsh jostling of the cart.

Upon waking, the sun was setting, and the sky was red with it, the clouds pink wisps.

"How soon?" I asked quietly, still rubbing my eyes.

"Have you been asleep, then?" he said.

"Yes."

"Good. I was worried you were pretending."

"Why would I do that?" I laughed quietly.

"I don't know..."

"How much longer?"

"Oh, maybe an hour..." His eyes illuminated behind his mask. "We'll be married first, then we'll need food for the kitchen, it's bare... And then we'll go home."

I rubbed the blanket between my fingers. "Do you trust me?"

"Trust you? Yes," he replied swiftly.

He was lying. I could tell.

"How much?" I pressed further.

"Seeing as to how you've been almost been entirely faithful to your promise, very much."

"Almost?"

"We're not married yet."

"Oh, yes, I suppose you're right... What are the vows, though? You acted strangely about them earlier."

"Just simple promises: to honor, respect, obey."

"Erik," I added, a bit wary "you promised we would be companions."

"I did. I'm more than satisfied with that, my dear. I've never had a companion of any sort before."

"I'm sorry for that. You have me now, though... Well, as I was saying, husbands are permitted certain things, like obedience, but as companions, we won't be like that, of course... yes?"

"You needn't worry so much," he told me gently. "It's not good for you to worry, and once we're married, I'll never allow you any troubles."

"And what if I want troubles?"

"To starve and have nothing to wear?"

"That's not what I meant. I don't want to be coddled is all."

"You want your freedom," he told me simply, adjusting the reins in his hands. "You've always been so curious like that, my dear. You wanted to be free, to sing onstage and provide for yourself, and yet you devoted yourself to an angel, chose to be dependent upon him."

"I was younger then. That was almost a year ago."

"How old are you now? Twenty?"

"Twenty-one."

"And your birthday was in October, unless I am mistaken?"

"Yes, the first."

"That's a rather unique birthday. Most are born in the spring."

"Were you?"

He was silent for a moment before replying quietly, "I don't know my date of birth."

"But your age?"

He shrugged, melancholic, "I must be in my forties by now, hopefully not more."

"I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"I don't want your pity," he told me sharply, then he turned back to the horse. "I didn't mean... I want your love."

"And you have it now, and if you love me very much in return, I hope we shall be very happy together."

I placed myself back beside him, on the bench in the front of the cart.

"What affections am I allowed?" he asked timidly. "You seem to hate rules being made for you, what about me?"

"Oh, we don't need rules about that sort of thing. I'm quite content with kisses, embraces, um... You can call me pretty names, if you want... I don't know what else there is."

"I still haven't kissed you once."

"But under the opera house-"

"No, I didn't kiss you then..."

I fidgeted with the edge of my cloak. "I can't let you kiss me again, though... until you apologize for earlier."

"Apologize?"

"You grabbed me and shouted at me."

He was silent for a moment, then he said quietly, "I asked you not to mention him."

"You _told_ me not to."

"Because you must forget him, or I'll never bring you any happiness... Happiness, Christine, will you allow me happiness now? I've only ever been truly happy before when I was teaching you."

"Yes, I'll allow you happiness... I'm sorry for upsetting you."

"How can you be?" he demanded, bewildered. "Are you in earnest when you say such things?"

"Of course I am. You know me."

"I do... better than you do me..." He shifted his weight on the bench. "I didn't mean to hurt you- I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Only frightened me."

"That's nearly as terrible..."

That was as close to an apology as I would receive.

"I forgive you..." I told him kindly. "Do you want a kiss now?"

He turned to me, his eyes wide with hope behind his mask. After a moment of hesitation, he raised a hand to my face, and then swiftly it was gone.

"I want to wait for the wedding," he said. "Will you permit me a kiss then? A real one?"

"Yes," I replied, beaming.

"Why do you smile?"

"I don't know... It's just... the way you said it was..."

"You're mocking me for never having had a kiss?"

"No, no, you said it very innocently."

"And that surprised you?"

"No. It made me more content with my decision is all."

We were silent for a little while, and I stared up at the sky. Stars were beginning to peek out from behind the rosy glow.

"How beautiful it is out here," I sighed. "Much better than the city."

He nodded. "I wish..."

"What?"

He sighed, "I had hoped to take you to Sweden, but that journey was too long for my taste. And too cold."

"Oh... This is lovely, too. I'm quite happy with your selection."

My eyes were upon the sky, and his on me. I had feared his eyes for so long, as I thought they were admiring me like one would a priceless gem. But now his gaze was soft, the way Raoul's always was before he kissed me...

"Are you quite well, my dear?" Erik asked as my eyes welled up with tears.

"I'll be fine," I replied, rubbing them with my cloak. "Perfectly f-fine... The sky is just so lovely."

"Lovely enough to make you cry?" he whispered.

But he did not pry further into my mind, for he knew what it held. A part of me still regretted leaving Raoul. I had tried to distract myself with the beautiful nature now surrounding me, the thought of spending the rest of my life with music, giving Erik the love that he had never received, and being loved in return.

Yet my heart continued to pine for Raoul, no matter how much I tried to push him away. He was better without me. I would have taken everything away from him. With Erik, I was going to give him the world rather than take it away.

When the stars had all emerged, they were like shards of glass scattered across the night sky, so bright and vivid, engulfing us until I exhaled in awe.

We came upon a small town lit only by a few scattered gas lamps, which were still being illuminated by a young boy.

Erik sighed discontentedly, "I didn't expect us to arrive so late."

"It's only seven o'clock."

He glanced at his watch, "Exactly. How did you know?"

"I guessed... Oh, is the church up on that hill? It's lovely."

He gave an inaudible reply. We ascended this hill with our exhausted horse, whom I had decided upon the name Hazel, and after securing him outside, Erik helped me down and we entered.

It was a little church, in white, with two rows of pews and only two windows in stained glass, the others clear. There was a tapestry of Christ above the front, which held a marble-topped table. A man with white hair, but no beard, turned to us.

"Good evening, monsieur and mademoiselle," he said amiably. "What has brought you here tonight?"

"We wish to be married," Erik told him, a little stiffly.

I nodded in agreement, though my stomach was writhing.

The bishop (I assumed he was a bishop, but I wasn't certain) seemed to find this acceptable. He performed the ceremony, and I followed through, though I felt quite faint. And indeed, at the end of it, though it had been quite brief, black dots swarmed my vision and I felt myself give way.

Erik caught me, fortunately, so I was unharmed when I woke a moment later. I laughed timidly, "I suppose I was a bit more nervous than I thought."

I allowed him his kiss, which was simply a momentary meeting of his lips to mine, but it was gentle and loving. I was put very much at ease by the innocence of it.

The bishop gave us a blessing, then we departed. My stomach began to writhe again, and I twisted my cloak in my hands as the cart rolled over the cobblestone road. It was a frightening thing, going into a house with a new husband whom one does not yet fully trust. He had been kind enough already, though, nothing but kind, and if not, he expressed profound regret. Yes, I was quite safe.

After procuring a few necessities, we started into the dense forest. The stars and moon were bleeding through the leaves, and I felt my heart began to race with trepidation. My senses left me. Fear gnawed at my heart.

I had to trust him with myself. Perhaps I had not truly understood before, but now I realized that marriage had given him complete control over me. Yes, he had had that before, but now was different.

"Are you asleep?" he asked softly.

I gave a start, "No."

"You're quiet. You must be tired."

I adjusted my skirt over my leg, then smoother out the blue ruffles. "What will we do now?"

"Whatever you want to do. I assume we'll have dinner and then you'll go to bed, though, nothing more. Your eyes are barely open."

I looked down into my lap. "I'm sorry."

He stared at me in confusion. "What for?"

"Well, I..." I clasped my hands in my lap, twisting the ring about my finger.

"That you don't love me," he said softly.

"No, no, that's not-"

"I'm happier than I've ever been whether you love me or not, my Christine."

"But... it shouldn't be like this. I'm sorry."

"What's wrong? Why must you keep apologizing?"

He stopped the horse as I clung to him, burying my face in his jacket. His scent wasn't at all like Raoul, who wore rich cologne. His arms didn't instinctively wrap around me, his hands weaving delicately into my hair to soothe me. He simply sat there in bewilderment as I clutched his jacket and cried into him, then he hesitantly patted my head.

"What's wrong?" he whispered. "Are you homesick?"

Without a word or explanation, he started the horse again, suddenly, and ignored me. His malformed lips, visible just beneath the mask, were pressed hard together, and his eyes were ahead, refusing mine. Upset by this, I slipped into the back of the cart, huddled up in self-pity. I simply didn't understand what I wanted. I had wanted to marry Raoul and be loved by him, but Erik wanted to love me, and he had never been loved, so shouldn't I give him my love? But how could I treat love as a commodity? It was my heart, not Raoul's or Erik's, mine. Oh, it seemed I had given it away to someone who had shown time and again his carelessness!

It felt like a half hour until Erik stopped the horse again. I heard him step off, his boots crunching in the dirt as he led the horse into a little weather-beaten shelter.

My eyes found the dense maze of trees, and I wondered which chances were higher: that he would break his promise, or that I would be able to flee. How could I be contemplating such a thing? An hour ago he had had my complete trust, and now my heart was beating against my ribcage with fright.

He had promised. He had changed. He loved me, and I loved him. I did, didn't I?

"My dear?" he whispered, extending a hand to me.

I untangled myself from my cloak.

"I promised," he said consolingly. "Is that why you're afraid?"

I nodded, taking a shuddering breath. "I'll be fine... It's been an exhausting day is all."

"And exciting."

"Yes, exciting."

He offered his hand again, and I took it, letting him help me down. Once he had pushed the cart next to the shelter for the horse, he unlocked the door of the house and gestured for me to enter.

This was now home.


	4. Chapter 4: The Wineglass

The house was small. Quaint was the word I preferred, simple, although, of course, it had a strange feeling to it. The furniture was rather plain, and there was a sofa with two end tables, and beside this, an armchair and bookshelf. The last one was a bizarre show of wealth in the midst of such frugality. How he had brought them all, the novels, journals, et cetera, I had no idea. And also there was a desk in the corner, like a makeshift study, and of course, a grand piano that seemed the most out of place of anything. It was glossy and new.

The main floor had an entryway that contained a staircase and coatrack. Then to the right of this, through an open doorway, was the living room. To the left, a dining room that had a door leading to the tiny kitchen, which, in turn, had a door that led into a cellar. This I did not see.

As I wandered, I suddenly realized that Erik was still in front of the fireplace, silent and still. He had long since lit it. His skin was pale around his mask, the flames reflecting in his eyes, and I came over to him with caution.

"I like the house," I said. "It's like you knew my mind."

He turned to me in confusion, as if he couldn't fathom my existence.

"Erik?" I asked, concerned.

"I thought I would've woken up by now," he whispered. "I thought I was dying and experiencing a particularly vivid hallucination..."

"I'm here... I'm real, I'm here."

I placed my hand on his shoulder. He began to cry, and after taking a few shuddering breaths, he removed his mask and turned his face away from me. I approached him again, with caution, gently brushing my hands against his back. He shivered, one of his hands rising to cover his deformity as he met my gaze.

I smiled gently, "This is real. I know it's a bit much to comprehend, but it's all real. I hope I'll be quite happy in this house with you, you and our music... Won't you show me my room? You talked all about it yesterday."

He nodded blankly, his eyes clearing, "Of course... Of c-course, yes, let me retrieve my old mask, though, one moment-"

"I don't mind-"

"I want to wear it," he told me, going to where his suitcase, mine, and the violin case had been set in the entryway.

He unclasped the first and rummaged around. He pulled the white mask out from where it had been secure between his white shirts, and after slipping it on, exhaling almost in relief as he did so, he turned to me.

"At least I can see your expressions now," I told him. "Half of them."

"Yes... I know that bothered you, my dear."

"Will you show me my room now?" I asked, extending my hand for him to take, my other holding a candle.

He stared at me in wonder, then clasped my hand in both of his, as if it would shatter from the slightest pressure. Then he led me upstairs, through an oak door into a bedroom in pale blue. The bed had translucent curtains about it, and the furniture was all a light wood, like pine, but all empty. There were two windows on either side of the room, one beside the bed, on the left, the other on the right wall, in the center. They both had identical white curtains, which were shut to conceal the dark outside. In the corner was a small desk and chair, and all the other necessary pieces of furniture were present.

"It's lovely," I told him. "Absolutely lovely."

"I'm going to fill it with anything you want," he said. "Anything at all, dresses first, and shoes, jewelry-"

"Oh, I don't need jewelry. I'm not going to be seeing people that often, except you... Unless you want me to wear-?"

"No, no, whatever you want to have."

"Then I would like plain dresses, practical ones... And one evening gown, you can pick it out, whatever you think would suit me. It can be as extravagant as you please... I've never needed expensive possessions, you see, so you needn't worry about all that. This is perfect as it is."

"I love you," he told me suddenly.

I nodded, not knowing what to say for a moment, then replied belatedly, "I love you, too."

His eyes glanced at my lips, and I saw his press together for a moment before his eyes returned to mine.

"I think I want to go to bed now," I told him quietly.

"But you haven't had dinner yet," he argued, almost panicked for fear he would be devoid of me soon. "And I could make you a bath, if you wanted-"

"I'm fine, truly, thank you... I'll have some wine if that will appease you, my stomach is just rather anxious still."

He nodded. "Of course, anxious... Let's go downstairs, then."

"Oh, do we even have wine?" I asked in realization, following him.

"Why wouldn't we have wine?"

"You didn't buy any."

"I have some in the cellar, of course."

"You said it was bare."

"Of food. And I only said the kitchen was bare, if we are being exact."

I smiled weakly, "You did."

I waited for him to pull out a chair for me at the dining table, but he went into the kitchen without noticing this. Did he not know?

I pulled out my own chair and sat down, placing my elbows on the table and folding my hands in prayer. Nothing issued from my lips or my mind, for I suddenly didn't know what to say. My head was blank. Should I ask for something? Yes, that this would all go well, and that Erik would feel loved.

"It's good wine, aged we-" he stopped upon seeing me rather flustered as I placed my hands back into my lap. "Did I interrupt you?"

"No," I replied, feeling suddenly quite melancholy.

He placed a glass before me, and it was already full of wine. His was as well, and he sat down after placing it down onto the table in front of himself. I glanced over at him, my pulse quickening.

"Is something wrong?" he asked in concern.

"I'm not that thirsty after all, I think," I replied, my mouth dry. "I'm only tired is all-"

"What's wrong?" he insisted.

I stood up. "I'm only tired, that's all, so very tired. I hardly need wine. Maybe a bit of water instead? I don't mean to be troublesome, but... well..."

He was silent, staring at my wine. Something passed over the uncovered part of his face, and he glanced over at me in realization.

"You don't trust me? You think I would...?" he said, sounding irreparably hurt.

"No, no, of course I don't, I..." I tried desperately to explain myself. "I'm anxious is all, and tired, I can barely think."

"There's a rather quick way to put your misplaced worries to rest," he said sharply, glaring at my wineglass.

Without warning, he rose and threw it against the wall, causing me to emit a squeak of fright, then he disappeared into the kitchen. The shards of glass tinkled like bells as they hit the floor.

Breathe, breathe... I needed air. He hadn't hurt me, not at all, of course not, why would I be worried about that? He had only become angry, reasonably angry, at such an accusation, such a cruel accusation on my part... Only angry...

I went to the front door and attempted to open it. Some fresh air would clear my head. To my confusion, it would not yield to me, though I pulled with all my weight. Why was I so small?

My heart ran away with fear, the air depleted of oxygen, and I turned to face the dining room doorway. Had he locked it? But how could he? He had promised!

"Christine?" he called as he set down an empty glass on the dining table. "I hope I didn't frighten y-"

He spotted me, faint by the door, and his features hardened.

"Why am I locked in?" I demanded, my voice threatening to shatter. "Why am I a prisoner?"

He glanced down at the wineglass. "I had hoped you wouldn't notice... I trust you as much as you do me, it seems."

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, "But I'm married to you now. I'm _married_ -"

"You could still leave. You would leave me regardless of that ring on your finger-"

"I'm not allowed to leave; I'm your wife!"

"Calm down!" he shouted. "You're hysterical over nothing."

" _Nothing_?"

"What does it matter if that door is locked?" he pleaded. "You would not have even known had you not attempted to open it, for... air, you say?"

"Air," I pleaded, "only air-"

"Then open a window. I regret locking the door, I admit, but it is locked, and so it shall remain until I trust you to stay. You told me yourself, we are companions." His voice turned soft and pitiful. "You would leave whenever you wanted to, tonight if you chose. I won't lose you again."

I hit my palm against the door. "I just want some air-"

"Christine, my dear-"

"I'm going to bed!" I exclaimed.

He was silent for a moment, then he whispered in a hoarse voice, "Goodnight."

I fled upstairs, slamming the door behind me and sinking atop my new bed, into its quilted blankets. I sobbed miserably, hard enough to make me fall asleep without noticing.

In the morning, I thrust open both my curtains, then attempted the windows. One was sealed shut, but the other gave way. A breath of cool air hit me, and I reached my trembling hands out into it, like through the bars of a cage.

I had despised him the night before for locking me inside, but now I pitied him for having so little trust, for being so desperate to keep me. That is, as long as he was being honest... Was he being honest? He had been furious over the wine, and I had thought that meant he had not put anything in it, but what if he had been so furious because he _had,_ and I had found out?

Oh, my wretched imagination! And I had thought before that I no longer feared him. How stupid I was, stupid, naive, and still not fully understanding why I was even there!

I fastened the blue dress about myself, the one I had worn the day before. Then I went over to the washbasin and found he had filled the pitcher for me. That was very thoughtful of him. For a moment, my heart filled with warmth, then it sunk at realizing he must have watched me sleep. Why wouldn't he have? But I washed my face, taking deep breaths as I dried myself with the white towel he had provided for me.

After another gulp of air, I ventured downstairs, hoping he was not yet awake. As I touched the last step, I heard him begin to play the piano, and pause to tune it once he hit a painful note.

I clasped my hands in my lap and cameinto the living room with as much bravery and confidence as I could exude. He turned to me upon hearing my footsteps.

"Good morning," he said softly, turning back to the piano.

"Where is my suitcase?" I asked. "It wasn't in my room."

"I washed your clothes and placed your other possessions in your dresser."

I blinked in surprise. "Thank you."

He relaxed a little at my change in tone, "They should be dry quite soon."

"I had expected to be the one doing laundry."

"You were asleep, and it needed to be done."

"Thank you. I'll do it next time... What time is it?"

"Ten o'clock."

"Ten?" I asked in surprise.

"You were exhausted from traveling... And crying..." he added sadly.

"When did you wash my clothes?"

"Around six, I think. I couldn't sleep."

"May I get them now?"

He was silent for a moment. "Yes, you may."

He pulled a key out of his pocket, and proceeded to unlock the front door two ways. My heart leapt, telling me run. Perhaps I could catch him by surprise and flee faster than he could pursue.

In a _dress_? And why? I would gain his trust eventually.

He gestured for me to follow him, pointing to the clothesline he had set up between two trees beside the house. I pulled down my underthings, which were mostly dry, but my other dress, the green one, was still damp at the edges.

We went back inside, and I pleaded as he shut the door, "Don't lock it, I can't bear it."

"It's only a door," he replied quietly.

"It's my freedom."

"Your freedom to run away, which you have told me isn't yours now that you're my wife."

"I only want to be able to open the door."

"I'll keep it unlocked during the day," he told me softly.

"Thank you."

"I don't..." he considered what he wanted to say. "I don't want to upset you and make you feel trapped. That wasn't my intent."

"Then why lock it?"

"You don't understand."

"Explain to me, then. There are many things I don't understand about you, and I would quite like to learn."

"I cannot explain," he told me firmly. Then he sighed, "Do you want breakfast?"

"Yes, please."

He nodded, going into the kitchen. After putting away my clothes, I placed myself down at the piano, playing a few notes out of boredom. As I found a dissonant one, my eyes stung with tears. Perhaps I was ill.

"My dear?" Erik called gently. "Your breakfast is ready."

I heard his footsteps approach me, hesitate, then continue. I shut my eyes and tried to breathe slowly to calm myself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

I turned to him in confusion. "What for?"

"I can't help you."

"Are you certain?"

"Is this still about the door?"

"Not just the door. Hardly the door at all, really."

"The wine?"

I bit my lip, then inhaled slowly, and exhaled through my mouth.

"How could you think-?" But he hesitated. "Why would I ever do such a thing? How could I? I love you."

"When we sang together," I tasted a tear that had fallen into the corner of my mouth, "onstage, you didn't act that way."

"That... That's not what I want now, not at all, I told you before, I'm content with your companionship."

"I'm so frightened," I whispered.

"I don't mean to frighten you, I'm not trying to," he told me, kneeling in front of me after a moment of hesitation. "Do I frighten you still, even when at your feet?"

I shook my head. "No."

He exhaled in relief, "We only need to spend some time in this house together, and we'll trust each other more."

"Yes, I think so."

"I won't hurt you... Do you still fear I'll hurt you?"

"No, but you frightened me last night, when you threw the wineglass."

He averted his eyes, rising. "Can you blame me?"

"No... I would have done the same, I think, if I were you."

"You still don't believe me, that I didn't leave your wine alone."

"No, I do."

"Don't lie," he told me sternly. "I know lies, I've practiced them for my whole life, you cannot lie to me..." He was pensive for a moment, "Would it... comfort you if I explained how you would know if I had drugged you and... and violated you?

I shook my head, staring at the floorboards and digging my nails into my skirts. I exhaled, "You could be lying then, too."

"You've been around the ballerinas and chorus girls long enough to figure it out for yourself even without me telling you."

"I suppose I have..." I whispered. "Then why did you offer to explain?"

"So that you would know I'm capable of telling truths."

"You are very capable of truths. The fact you are also capable of lying very well is all I am afraid of."

He glanced towards the dining room. "Your breakfast is getting cold."

I went to sit down, again pulling out my own chair. He had made me a tartine and porridge, knowing I would be hungry after having had no dinner the previous night.

He began to tune the piano again as I ate, slowly and pensively. Then, without warning, he struck his hand against the keys and I jumped with fright, nearly falling back in my chair.

"I'm going out to buy the chickens," he told me, not meeting my eyes.

"Why can't I come?"

"Because you're still eating. I'll be back in an hour, I should hope."

"Will you lock the door?"

He turned to me from it, then asked softly, "Why shouldn't I?"

"What if...? What if there's a fire?" I offered.

"Jump out your window, but I highly doubt that."

"Erik, I'll finish my breakfast. I want to come... I'm your wife now, after all, I should come with you."

His malformed lips were already forming the word "no," but then he sighed, "I'll wait for you, my dear... I shouldn't leave you alone."

I finished my breakfast hastily, eager to be out of that house for a time. Perhaps he was right, that we would learn to trust each other over time.

I climbed up into the cart by myself, blushing at how awkwardly I accomplished this. Erik attempted to ignore me for most of the short journey, even after that, but failed rather quickly.

"These farms over here should have some chickens to sell," he told me, somewhat hesitant. "If it was spring it would be easier to buy them."

"Maybe some chicks were early?"

"Maybe..."

I glanced down at my feet, exhaling through the corner of my mouth. When I looked up, we were already upon a small farm.

"Not this one," he told me.

"You know which one?"

"I familiarized myself with the area. There's a farm that specifically breeds animals, mostly horses, but also pigs and chickens."

"Who told you about it?"

"No one tells me anything, my dear. I overhear, and I use what I overhear far better than most people with what they're supposed to hear."

After passing two more, he stopped the cart outside a particularly large farmhouse, which carried a far worse odor than the others. Erik told me to wait in the cart, which surprised me, as I could quite easily run away like this, far more efficiently than on foot. I hardly understood him.

A young man with sandy hair came out and spoke to Erik, making a small attempt to not question the fact that this man was masked. Then Erik came back to me.

"They have puppies, too," he offered. "Would you like one?"

"Yes, very much."

He nodded, seeming quite content now. For a while, he was selecting chickens, while I had my arms wrapped loosely about my knees in the cart, doing nothing, not even thinking. It was nice to sit and stare, and to breathe in this fresh air. I never could fill my lungs in Paris without my eyes watering.

Hazel stamped impatiently, so I told him to be patient, then laughed at myself for talking to a horse. Erik returned shortly after that, with three chickens bound by their feet, clucking in quiet outrage, and in his other hand, a curly golden-haired puppy. I clasped it happily, letting the little dear kiss my face as Erik placed the chickens in the back. He sat down beside me, gazing at me for a moment before starting back home.

"You like him?" he asked.

"He's absolutely beautiful," I replied, lifting the puppy up for emphasis. "I always wanted a dog, as a girl, but we couldn't afford it, and we were always traveling... Thank you."

He nodded in reply, adjusting the reins in his hands.


	5. Chapter 5: Poco Crescendo

When we returned home, Erik placed the chickens in a small coop in the backyard, then returned to tuning the piano. I had the puppy in my lap, and glanced around at my new reality every once in a while.

"Erik?" I asked softly as he closed the piano.

He brightened, delighted to be addressed. "Yes, my dear?"

"Could you show me the lake later?"

"The lake? Of course."

"Oh, we could have a picnic!" I offered.

"If you want."

"Yes, I think that would be good for the two of us, to sit and talk by the lake... Come sit with me," I asked, patting the spot beside me. "I still can't think of a name for this puppy."

He sat down beside me, but as far away as could be managed on the small sofa. I stroked the little dog's ears, smiling.

"You should give him a Swedish name," he suggested.

"I thought something musical."

He thought for a moment, then said, "Poco."

"Oh, that's perfect. Let's hope he stays _poco_ , though, or else the name won't fit him when he gets bigger."

He nodded, extending his hand to my cheek, but he withdrew it when I turned my head to face him.

"I'm feeling much better now," I said.

"From the door being unlocked?"

"Yes, and the puppy, and the chickens. I've always liked farms."

"We could have a garden, too, if you wanted."

"Oh, I'm no good with plants."

He smiled a little. "Neither am I."

"Why are you so far away?" I asked playfully.

He moved a little closer to me, and I shifted myself towards him, adjusting my skirts.

"Is this what husbands and wives do?" he asked softly. "Sit together and talk?"

"Do you not like it?"

"No, it's wonderful... Only rather strange."

"Strange?"

"Christine, my dear, I've never been so close to another person for so long in all my life as I have been with you these five days."

I kissed his cheek. "I think it'll be wonderful here, with music to fill our days, and sitting around like this. And how beautiful it is outside. I never liked the city-"

I felt something damp on my shoulder, and realized his eyes were glassy. I placed the puppy down and extended my arms to him, holding him against my chest once he had accepted my embrace.

"I've overdone my happiness, I think," I whispered.

"No, no, my love, the kiss did it... I can call you that, 'my love?'"

"Of course, dear... We're supposed to be married. You can call me whatever pretty names you please."

His misshapen lips turned up at the corners, "I've never been called that before, 'dear...'"

Something flickered in his eyes, and he pulled away from me, not meeting my gaze as he stood up.

"Is something wrong?" I asked cautiously.

"Nothing," he replied, faking calmness, though he was evidently distressed. "Nothing is wrong... Would you like...?" He glanced around desperately for a distraction. "Would you like me to play for you?"

"Which instrument?"

"Whichever you prefer."

"The violin, please."

He smiled gently as he went to retrieve it. I exhaled as the puppy hopped back up into my lap, licking my hands until I giggled.

I felt Erik's eyes boring into me, but turned to find him fully engrossed in tuning the violin to the piano. Afrer sefting Poco down, I went over to him, proceeding to rest my elbows on the black surface of the piano and stare at my reflection in the polished wood. When I glanced up, he was watching me attentively.

"I would search for my reflection, too, if I were you," he told me.

I rested my head on my hands. "It May surprise you, but I never thought myself pretty as a girl. I had too many freckles, too many curls."

"And now?"

"It's hard not to think myself beautiful, with you reminding me so often."

He extended a hand out to cup my cheek, and I pulled away instinctively. This was suddenly wrong, so very wrong, it didn't feel right to be sitting so close to him.

"I'm sorry," I told him, nervous. "I didn't mean to do that. Old habits."

"You told me you would forget," he said sadly, his eyes averted.

"I just don't... I don't understand is all."

"What don't you understand?"

"It's hard to explain."

"I assume I can understand."

"But I can't tell you," I pleaded.

His eyes darkened. "You're thinking about the boy again."

"No, I'm not, stop accusing me of that."

"Why are you even here at all if you won't stop looking back over your shoulder?"

He left the house, slamming the door behind himself. I stared at the entryway in panic, knowing that he must have locked me in, but not wanting to find out. With a sigh of distress, I rose and began to pace, chewing my lip. Poco ran around my legs.

"He killed people, Poco," I said, quite confused as to what that meant now. "Killed them without an ounce of remorse, but... He didn't want to. I know he didn't want to. Haven't you seen how he behaves around me? But then... he nearly killed me with the chandelier, in a fit of rage... But that was before. That was before. He didn't want to, he wants to love me, he does."

The puppy pawed at my skirts, trying to tear them with his little nails. I picked him up, and he gave me kisses in gratitude.

"I wish I could forget," I whispered to him. "I wish I could forget everything and pretend like this house is all there is in the world, and be content. I think I'll be quite happy here... eventually."

As long as Erik kept his promises, things would get better, namely the fact that I was still trapped in my own house. It made me sick, and yet full of pity, all at once.

He returned after what seemed an hour. I was sitting on the sofa when I heard the door open, and we met each other's gaze for a moment before he went up the stairs, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots.

"Erik?" I called, a little hesitant. "Dear?"

I heard his bedroom door shut. Was this how he coped? Hiding away from problems and hoping they would disappear?

"You never played for me," I offered loudly, with a surprising amount of anger. "You said you would."

His door opened, and he returned, tense and evidently upset with me.

"Of course, I wouldn't deny you music," he said, his tone cool and mocking. "I would never deny my little Christine _music_."

I bit my lip. "I didn't mean-"

"I don't want to hear any more of that. Let me play for you now, as you've requested."

He placed the violin under his chin and, without another word, began to weep through the instrument. The notes gliding through the air were falling like teardrops. I felt the melodies in my heart and in my soul, felt all of what he did, his pain, his love, his _fear_. There was no much fear, that I was lying, that he might fail. No one but him could evoke such feelings inside me. Perhaps that was all I felt for him, only what he had made me feel. My heart was aching.

As the song continued, enveloping me in its magnificence and genius, I felt myself longing as he did, for what, I knew not. I simply yearned for something just out of reach, if only he would continue playing, I thought I could find it. It was invisible to the eye, but I could feel it, coming closer and closer until-

The last note faded at the tip of his bow, and I remembered all too soon that I felt an astonishing amount of love for him, after everything. His music, I could not leave, or I would die.

He turned to me, his gaze soft and wandering along the floorboards. He said gently, "I wrote that five days ago..."

"Is that why it ends like that?" I questioned.

"Abruptly? No, it's supposed to be haunting at the end... Unless you want it changed, my dear?"

"I feel like it needs to find itself. It's like the music is reaching for something, but never finds it, so it leaves the listener unsettled."

"Unsettled..." he repeated. He strummed the strings, then stopped the vibrations with his hand.

"Your vibrato is beautiful."

He nodded, unused to appreciation and praise.

"It's like you put no effort into it," I added.

He chuckled, though there was a hint of sorrow in this, "That's the compliment afforded to a good performer, isn't it?"

"Yes..." I clasped my hands in my lap, containing a sigh of relief that he had cooled down from earlier. "My father had a fiddler's vibrato, but I've always liked that calm, smooth stroke. He only played like that in private, for my ears alone... I'm a little hungry now, what do we have for lunch?"

"Let me look. I assume cheese sandwiches, though."

"That's fine, good for a picnic."

"Oh. Yes, I forgot. I'll bring the apples along, too, then."

"I wish we could fish," I told him, thinking aloud. "I did that once as a girl."

"Did you catch any?"

"Of course not," I beamed.

"Then we'd best not rely on that.

"Best not."

"So we have sandwiches, apples, and wine... Unless you don't want that?" he asked, his features hardening as his eyes refused to meet mine.

"I don't want to bring that up anymore," I told him earnestly. "I'm in a new house, with a person I haven't truly known before, you understand why I was anxious and untrusting, unreasonably so. Of course I know you would never do such a thing, but after all the excitement of traveling, I-"

"I'm not angry at you," he replied in confusion.

"What do you mean, not angry at me?"

"Why should I be upset at you for not trusting me?"

"But... but you acted like you were. You shouted at me, ignored me-"

"I'm not capable of being angry at you."

"Not capable?" I retorted. "You nearly dropped a chandelier on me, you won't let me say Raoul's name, and you came down here and mocked me for asking for music!"

We were silent for a moment, staring at each other for his or her reaction.

"Forgive me," he said softly.

I blinked in astonishment, "What?"

"Forgive me for being angry at you."

Silence.

"I forgive you," I replied, bewildered.

His gaze shifted to the window, then back to me, "Are you merely saying that?"

"No. Of course not. In all earnestness, I forgive you... Thank you."

"Where has your dog gone off to?" he asked suddenly, as if searching for a distraction.

"Asleep on that armchair, look. Isn't he adorable? He wore himself out exploring the house."

"Ah."

"Could we prepare the picnic now?" I asked, staring at him and feeling something indescribable rise inside me.

"Yes, of course. Wait here."

I was going to ask to assist him, but I didn't want to accidentally cause another argument, so I sat down on the sofa. Poco began to paw at the air and whimper, fast asleep in a nightmare, or a dream.

I stared up at the ceiling, hands clasped over my stomach. I had tried to keep my thoughts away from Raoul, and mostly succeeded, but then I suddenly wondered, what if he hadn't found the note? What would he think, that I had gone back, or...? Or been taken?

"Erik?" I said, coming into the kitchen hesitantly.

He was using a brown paper bag as a picnic basket, and turned to me, "Is something wrong?"

"I..." I took a breath. "I need to send a letter."

He sighed, "Christine, we cannot send letters here."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone could find out where they came from."

"But... I'm concerned that... Now don't be upset about this. It's very important to me is all so I needn't think about him, needn't worry about what he might be doing... I fear that Raoul might come looking for me, thinking you've abducted me again."

His jaw tightened, but he replied, "Didn't you write a note of explanation?"

"I'm concerned he might've not found it, or perhaps not believed it... Please, you ought to know how we could-"

"If you sent him a letter now," he said quietly, wrapping two sandwiches in paper and placing them in the bag, "he would think I made you write it. There's nothing you can do to remedy that, just hope that he found the note and believed it... That's the last time we speak of him, is that understood?"

My lips tightened in indignity. "No. No, I'm not-"

"We don't have to leave this house at all, you know," he said coldly. "I find I don't really want to go, with you thinking about someone else-"

"Erik, I married you!" I insisted. "Why would I have done that, if only to pine for someone else-?"

"Because you can't possibly love me!" he retorted. "I don't know what your purpose is here, but you can't possibly love me. I wondered if this was a plan to trap me at first, but that's impossible at this point. So why are you here? The only explanation I can devise is that you've somehow become unconsciously attached to me, still somehow, inside, believing I'm an angel, which we both know isn't true. That and, somehow, you've become addicted to my music... Why won't you just tell me why are you here? You have to at least have a sense of why."

"But I _don't_. I don't truly know why I'm here."

"You keep saying that, but it can't be true. Why are you here? Why do you wear my ring? You can't marry a man and not know why."

"I..." I searched for the words to explain myself, but they were nowhere to be found. "I couldn't stay."

"Couldn't? Then my insane explanations-"

"I didn't feel like I could stay with Raoul," I told him earnestly. "I couldn't bear the thought of leaving you alone."

"Then you should've stayed... Why did I take you here, if only to upset you?"

"But I want to be here! I've told you this; I want to be here. I love this simple house, the forest, the farms outside it, the little town. Erik, I can be happy here, very happy. I only need to trust you a bit more first."

"But you admit you don't love me?"

"I don't know."

"Don't know, or don't wish to say?"

"I don't know," I pleaded. "Leave the thoughts in my head alone, and I'll try and make sense of them for you when I can. But not now, not when I'm still recovering from being trapped inside my own house!"

"You're not trapped-"

I went to the front door, and sure enough, it was locked. "Then what is this?"

He followed me tiredly, "I forgot-"

"You forgot," I repeated, my chest burning.

"You don't understand!" he insisted, holding my face in his hands. "Wouldn't you lock this door if you were me? You speak to me as though I'm human, you permit me to _touch_ you, kiss you, Christine... Why shouldn't that door be locked?"

"Because I can't love you as your captive. You know that already."

"I let you out earlier-"

"Let me out? When I pleaded with you, when I begged you to go. You were going to keep me locked inside!"

"Christine-"

Without warning, without thinking, I kissed him, and his hands fell from my face in confusion as I brought his lips down to mine rather harshly. My heart beat wildly against my ribcage as I dragged him down with me, pulling him ever closer. Then I slipped away, bristling with fury.

"You don't understand me!" I cried, fleeing upstairs as I heard him whisper my name.

I slammed my bedroom door, breathing heavily and clutching my head in both hands. I had kissed him to catch him off-guard, show him I was myself, as I had before, but what frightened me was that it had hurt to pull away. My lips were burning. I sat down at the foot of my new bed and put my head in my hands, pensive. My knees were tucked up into my chest.

Erik remained downstairs. I began to wonder if he had left the house again, but I couldn't remember hearing the front door open.

Once I had calmed myself, I washed my face to clear my head, all while taking deep breaths. I opened a window and savored the cool air. Then I ventured back downstairs, timid with embarrassment from my actions. Erik was sitting on the piano bench, his chin propped up by his hand, his elbow on his thigh. He looked up at me, his malformed lips parting.

"I'm sorry," I said. I relied far too heavily on apologies.

"No," he told me quietly. "The door is unlocked now."

I glanced at it, then opened it to see for myself. I turned back to him and realized he was standing now.

"Why did you kiss me?" he asked with the timidity of a child.

I folded my lips, shutting the door. "I don't know."

He sighed, "You don't have to kiss me anymore-"

"I chose to. I didn't have to at all."

"Yes, you didn't... then why? To silence me?"

"No... I-I think..." I twisted the ring about my finger, "to show you I could."

"Did you want to kiss me?"

I was silent.

He was pensive for a moment, then he said softly, "I love you."

"Then trust me," I insisted. "I'm not going to leave you. I haven't come to torment you... I'm only here to... love you."

"Love me?"

"Yes. I'm here to love you... At least, I think."

He sighed, "You've never been confident in yourself, 'I think so,' 'perhaps,' "I'm sorry... Confidence comprised most of our early lessons, at first, remember?"

I nodded.

"You're so different from then..."

"Is that good or bad?"

"That's the question..." he said, then he added hastily. "Do you still want to have a picnic?"

I smiled weakly, "Yes, I would love a picnic."


	6. Chapter 6: Skipping Stones

**Erik will provide his POV every so often as Christine and him grow closer.**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **ERIK**

I had gone mad. This was surely some phase of dying, having an all-encompassing dream of all I had ever wanted. She was _kissing_ me, _embracing_ me, giving me comfort and affection like... like she _loved_ me. But she refused to admit it.

What had happened to her? I had to have done something to her poor mind. A mere six days ago, she was throwing a veil at me and pleading for her freedom, at the possible cost of her fiancé's life. And now here she was, feigning happiness (for this could not possibly be genuine), and having _married_ me. Yes, she was adamant about the door, and the wine...

Admittedly, I _had_ drugged her wine, but only a little, and simply to relax her, as she had been anxious earlier, fainted at the altar from it. I only wanted to be sure she would sleep soundly and not remain up all night fearing I would do the unthinkable. She had a lively imagination. Even so, I could not possibly tell her that I had put anything in her wine even for such a reason. She would never believe me. I had no dishonest intentions towards her, of course, not now. Just this, for the remainder of my life, would be more than I had ever wanted or hoped for. But it was not a marriage. She had made that clear, and I had agreed to her terms, but I wanted a wife, a _real_ wife. And not just any wife, I wanted Christine, all of her, damn me. I couldn't be satisfied with less.

I knew I had to restrain myself from all thoughts of ever consummating the marriage. The idea had crept into my mind of late, despite my fierce protests. Why torment myself, when this was bliss now? I had never felt like this in all my life. There was no reason to hope for more, more that I did not deserve.

I knew this bliss was false, but I did not care. She had surely gone mad as well; that was the only logical explanation for this behavior. She had her head in my lap at that moment- closer to my knees, thankfully- and she was staring up at the sky, pensive but content. After we had eaten lunch, she had simply placed herself there, without a word. Her brown curls were about her head like a halo.

I couldn't breathe.

"I wish the clouds weren't so clustered together," she said in her softest and sweetest voice. "I liked to pretend they made shapes when I was a girl. Dragons mostly. It's very easy to find dragons in the sky as a child."

Did she expect me to hold a conversation in this position?

"Do you want me to sit up?" she asked, sounding concerned at my lack of response.

"Not if you're comfortable," I replied.

"I am... D-do you want to-?" But she faltered.

"Want to what?"

"Never mind."

I gazed out upon the lake, which seemed more like a pond where we were. When I glanced back down at Christine, she stood up, brushing a few leaves off her green skirt and adjusting her cloak about her shoulders. Her pink lips were pressed together, as if deep in thought.

"Do you like this?" she asked.

I never wanted to leave this moment.

"It's peaceful," I replied softly.

"I suppose you're not used to that, though..." She picked a blade of grass. "I've been away from it for so long. I forgot how much I missed it, being surrounded by nature. I feel so free... Do you still think you're dreaming?"

"What else could this be?"

She turned out towards the lake, her blue eyes glassy. I knew what she had to be thinking of. She had to be regretting this. All her words were lies. It was the only possible explanation, but _why?_

I would never have her wholly to myself.

"Let's take a walk around," she suggested, hastily rubbing away a tear.

"Are you cold at all?" I asked. "It is February, after all, and you act like it's spring."

"I'm Swedish," she replied, attempting a weak smile. "This is the best weather, especially with no wind, and a gentle dose of dew... Do you not want to walk around? Are _you_ cold?"

"No, a walk sounds nice."

She entwined her arm in mine, resting her head against my shoulder. Her curls brushed against my neck. She was so soft and gentle, and were it not for her strong and lovely voice, the world would have torn her apart by now.

"Could you buy me some yarn and needles sometime?" she asked. "For knitting?"

"Of course," I replied.

"If I made you a scarf, would you wear it?"

"I suppose, yes."

She beamed, then sighed, "I love this so much. I keep saying that, but I really do mean it. It's so beautiful out here."

I nodded.

She turned her head up at me curiously. "Do you like being alone?"

"Well, what would you prefer, with a face like this? Being surrounded by people, or alone?"

"Alone... but we can be alone together now."

She looked up at me, her lovely features bright.

There were no angels in heaven; only this one on earth. The idea of spending the rest of my life like this, with her mostly happy- even if it was a lie, or confusion on her part- was almost unbearable, and certainly incomprehensible.

"Do you want to play a game?" I asked her as we strolled along the side of the lake.

"A game?" she replied, smiling prettily enough to suffocate me.

"You seem to enjoy them."

"I would rather just walk... Or throw stones," she suggested. "I'm rather good. At least, I remember being good at it..."

"Throw stones at what?"

She laughed, "The lake. Skipping stones, I mean... Have you never done that?"

"Not as a game."

Her face fell. "I'm sorry if I upset you-"

"I would quite like to skip stones with you, my dear," I interrupted, unable to stand her earnest apologies.

She separated from me, going down to the shore to collect flat stones. Perhaps it was odd, but I enjoyed simply watching her. I had done that before, sat behind her mirror and observed the way her lovely face rose when I called for her, listened to her sing to herself, and wished for nothing more than to remain there always. I had never seen her indecent behind that wall of glass, however. She always snuck behind her divider to change, sparing me the temptation to observe what no one but her should ever see. No one was worthy, certainly not I.

"Erik, dear, why aren't you collecting stones?" She asked.

She had called me that again.

I went down to her. "I was thinking."

"Thinking?" she inquired, examining a stone and adding it to the small pile in her arms.

"About later," I told her, making an attempt to be playful as she was, "when I go into town again, about all the pretty dresses and things I'll buy for you."

I had hoped she would smile at this, but instead she averted her eyes and looked perturbed. Without a word, she flung a stone across the lake, and it skipped over once before plopping into the water.

"One..." she murmured, then she handed me a dark, flat stone. "I bet you can get more."

Her eyes were on me in curiosity, and, not wanting to seem unconfident, I threw it promptly across the water, and it skipped thrice.

"You're good," she said quietly, trying her hand again.

Two.

"I'm not as strong as you," she remarked. "My father could always-" she threw another- "get more than me every time." Another. "Do you mind it... when I talk about Sweden? I do that a lot and-"

"No, I don't mind. Anything to hear your voice."

"We need to sing together later, since we love each other's voices so," she offered, throwing a particularly flat stone that glided three times across. "There! Now you have to get four."

We may have passed an hour in that activity, but I certainly did not mind. Christine never got more than three, but I managed five once, and she gave me a darling little pout at this.

As the sky darkened, though it was still the afternoon, Christine continued pelting the water and breathing in the fresh, cold air with delight. It was lovely to see her so elated to be where I had chosen for us to live.

I glanced up at the sky and sighed, "It looks like more clouds are gathering. Perhaps we should go back."

"But I love the rain," she replied.

"In February? Do you want to get a cold?"

"I suppose you're right. In the spring and summer, though, I want to spend whole days out here, rain or shine."

"I'll need to buy you a parasol, then, my fair little wife."

Again, the perturbed expression passed over her features, though she tried to hide it behind a smile.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "You seem upset by something."

"Oh, it's nothing."

"Nothing? Whenever I talk about buying you things, you look distressed."

She bit her lip. "Well... do you want to dote on me?"

"Is that wrong?" I remarked, trying to conceal my irritation. "Don't husbands dote in their wives?"

"Well, I... I'm coming with you to town later, correct?"

"No... I want you to stay home."

"But-"

"I want to buy everything for you on my own. Then they can be a surprise."

"Erik, I don't want to be a doll to you," she said firmly, then she passed her top lip over her bottom nervously.

I restrained myself from clenching my fists at this accusation, "A doll? Why would you think I want to make you into a doll?"

"The room, and the talk of 'pretty things,' and how you want me to stay home all the time."

"Don't men adore their wives in such ways? And you are a wife, so you're supposed to stay home."

"But you said we were companions. You promised me."

"And you promised to marry me..." I glanced back up at the sky. "Let's go back before the rain comes."

"I don't want to quite yet. There won't be rain for a while. It doesn't smell like it yet... You can go back without me, if you want. I remember the way."

And with that, she continued throwing rocks at the lake.

"Christine, we're going home now," I said more firmly, folding the picnic blanket.

"I'm not trying to be difficult. I only want to stay a little longer. What's the trouble with that?"

"Did I ask what you wanted to do?"

Her mouth opened in hurt, then shut.

I sighed, "I didn't mean- let's go home now, I'll carry everything."

She dropped the two stones in her hands and came over to me, now quite melancholy.

I should have let her stay longer, but how could I allow her to contradict me? Before, I had been able to tell her what to do and have her follow obediently, but now she knew she had me tied around her little finger. However delicate that may be, my mind refused being in this state of dependence. Companions or not, I had authority... didn't I?

On the way home, she made no attempt to speak to me, or hold my hand. I began to fill with distress at this, though I tried to subdue it.

Upon entering the house, she said she was going to take a nap, and I took that opportunity to go into town without a fight from her over it, as I knew she could not have let the matter go so quickly. I locked the front door before leaving, though I knew that was a terrible idea. It simply made me feel safe, especially after how upset she had been. She would forgive me soon, though, once she saw what all I had brought back. Women couldn't resist beautiful things, not even her.

I went and bought two nightgowns for her and some plain dresses close to her measurements. The evening gown, a rich, blue dress with floral embroidery, would be ready for her in a few days. I bought her shawls, stockings, perfume, shoes, combs, everything I could think of that she could ever need. And I nearly forgot the knitting she requested, but this too I added.

Once I had procured some necessities, I headed back home, trepidatious as to whether Christine had found out about the door. I should have left it unlocked. Which did I want more, her happiness or her security?

After feeding and watering the horse, I entered with most of my purchases, setting them down on the dining room table. Christine appeared to be in the drawing room, and had not come to greet me.

As I went into there, I found her reading a book in the armchair, the puppy asleep at her feet. Her eyes were downcast. The fire in the fireplace was glowing embers, but she showed no concern about this. The only sign that she lived was that she turned a page. Her eyes were glassy.

"I bought you some things," I told her after replacing my full mask with my white one.

She showed no sign she had heard.

"You asked for plain dresses," I said, feeling myself growing concerned.

Her lower lip quivered, and she turned another page far sooner than she could have read it.

"Christine, come now, I have so many lovely things for you-"

"You promised me we would be companions," she said, her voice frail. "I agreed to marry you under that one, simple term."

"But you married me."

"You tricked me."

"Tricked you?"

"Again and again you trick and deceive and I thought you'd changed, that you loved me, and now you lock me in this house, keep me pent up inside, even after you promised not to _twice._ And you _want_ to love me, you let me go free before, unlocked the door earlier... What happened to that?"

"I do love you," I told her gently. "I've bought you dresses and chocolates and-"

"I'm a prisoner," she pleaded. "I don't care about what you've bought. Are not members of the harem given jewels to wear-?"

"Be quiet!" I snapped, startling her into dropping her book.

I picked this up and handed it back to her, sighing to calm myself. "You're not a prisoner, not at all... Do you know why I lock that door?"

"No. You haven't truly told me, save that you fear I'll run away."

"And why shouldn't I fear that?... Why are you here? Why are you doing all this?"

She averted her eyes, pensive.

"I want to be married to you," I confessed. "I want a wife, not just a friend."

"And I want a husband, not a captor."

"I'm not your captor! I'm merely keeping you true to your promise."

"Keeping me? Why am I incapable of doing so myself?"

"Because I do not trust you."

"But you have to."

"You don't trust me."

"But I... I have a reason to."

"And you suppose I do not? You betrayed me as well-"

"Stop," she pleaded, "stop, don't talk about him-"

"So you do want to return! You want to steal away back to that boy-"

"I can't have children!" she screamed.

I blinked, stupefied. Where had this come from?

She began to cry as she spoke, though she tried to collect herself. "Don't you know what I've sacrificed to marry you? Do you think I would simply run away now without good cause? I'm out in the middle of nowhere- beautiful or not- with a man I first met as a lie. I blindly returned to you after I thought I could help you, because I love you, and I thought that would be enough, that would fix everything, but... I never thought about it much... I've been upset today over... I realized that I'll never have children now that I'm married to you, never be free to walk about with people, never be myself as I was before. And even if that door is unlocked, I'm in a cage with you. I'm blindly hoping that you'll be a good caretaker for me, knowing full well that you have murdered people and hurt me... But I am married to you, and I cannot leave, I will not leave, unless you give me a reason to. I'm here to love you and that is my only purpose now, however fulfilling it may be, understand that I am living for you now, and you will treat me with respect for it and let me walk about freely!"

To remember that this was the same girl from a year ago who came onstage and squeaked like a mouse, to have such a powerful and determined voice that was now bringing me to my knees.

She wept into herself, hiding her face from me. I had no idea what to do, because I could not comfort her. She did not want me. Should I leave her alone?

"I w-wanted to come to town," she explained between shuddering breaths, "b-because I also needed certain t-things that you wouldn't know about... T-that's why I was upset earlier, too..."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked gently.

"I was embarrassed..." she sniffed before collapsing under another wave of sobs.

"Are these tears all about wanting a child?"

"N-no, well, yes, but I never... w-wanted one before, until now that I... c-can't have any."

"When you say 'can't,' what do you refer to?"

"You w-wouldn't want one because of your face."

Damn my face, damn my temper, damn that I had allowed her to marry me! She was right, I had trapped her in a cage with only me for company! No children, women were meant to have children, and with me I would never allow that... Only me for company...

Me for company... Music. I needed to give her music, engulf her in it as I had before. Then she would cease crying, forget all these troubles.

I began to sing to her, in the way I knew would cause her to slip away from the world if she was unresisting. I could make all her pain vanish with my voice. Her mind would fall into my hands like clay to shape as I pleased. I only wanted to comfort her now.

She rose her head, her eyes becoming dazed behind their welled-up tears. She blinked at me, and I gave her songs of love and hope. I adored her with my voice. Her tears subsided as she stared at me in awe.

But I could not sing for eternity, so I lulled her to sleep after an hour of this. Then I carried her up to her bed and went downstairs to finish carrying in my purchases. Once this was done, I slammed my fist onto the table and wept like a child.

This was why I had given her the boy to care of her. I could never be a proper husband. I had already failed. How could a man who had never been loved in his life love another?

My poor Christine...


	7. Chapter 7: Expression

**I just want to note that this is supposed to be a slow E/C, and these chapters should be the hardest for the two of them. By chapter 10 (Maybe 12) they should be relaxing into marriage, I think, and then we'll have less of these arguments and more forgiveness and love.**

 **The rating WILL NOT CHANGE, btw, if you were hopeful. It's only fluff, more fluff than I ever thought I'd write... And they're still arguing!**

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 **CHRISTINE**

I woke up to Poco whining and pawing at my door. Out the window, the sun was dipping below the trees, and I went over to see this better, callous to the wants of my puppy. I could see the darkness approaching, the darkness I had screamed at and run from as a child, the darkness Erik wore to hide himself from the world...

So strange that for one person, darkness was her fear, and for the other, his solace.

I pulled myself away from the sunset, trepidatious as to what the rest of the day held, but unable to resist the needy puppy at my door. I scooped him up into my arms and he covered me in kisses until I couldn't help but smile in my pain.

Then I heard Erik begin to play the violin. It was a single note, full and rich, but it quavered and ceased, humming in the air.

I didn't want to see if he had unlocked the door, because I knew he couldn't have. After having nothing of love, why would he not want to lock me away for himself? He had planned to before...

But I went downstairs, the puppy bounding behind me. I stopped suddenly at the bottom, marveling at the sight that met my eyes and feeling my heart grow faint with relief.

The lock had been removed! And not carefully, but violently, carelessly, denting the wood surrounding it.

I walked into the living room as if in a daze, my fingertips gliding along the doorway frame. Erik turned to me, the violin beside him atop the piano.

"You broke the lock," I said.

"Broken things can be mended," he replied strangely, setting the violin beneath his chin.

"Thank you."

He ceased, removing his bow, the silver ferrel of which caught a string.

"What's wrong?" I asked, wary as to his behavior.

"Nothing," he replied, preferring the window to my face.

"I had hoped to kiss you in gratitude for your decency, but I see I'm unwanted," I told him, turning towards the dining room doorway. He grabbed my arm.

"Christine, forgive me," he said, hesitant.

I turned to face him, and his grip loosened.

I asked gently, "What for?"

"Not being captured under the opera house."

"Erik, I don't understand-"

"Yes, you do," he told me painfully. "If I was dead, you would be happy and free-"

"You think I wouldn't be distraught? I would've mourned you, Erik, murderer or no, I would've mourned and wept. I love you-"

"In what way?" He demanded, growing suddenly irritable. "You say that rather often, 'I love you...' Well? In what way?"

"I can't explain."

"You must explain!" He cried, his hand tightening about my arm as he shook me. "Who am I married to, am I even married at all? What do you want from this? What is yours to gain?"

"You're hurting me," I whispered.

He released my arm, not meeting my eyes in shame, "What is yours to gain?"

"Your happiness," I replied simply, rubbing where I now ached.

"And what of _yours_?"

"I hope for it eventually... but it's my fault if it never comes. I brought myself here, not you. I'm wearing this ring of my own accord... I sacrificed my immediate happiness in the hope that... that whenever I was happy again, it would be greater than that. And besides, you know I can't help but make myself miserable."

"Do you love me?"

"It's hard to tell," I told him, holding my arm for emphasis.

He refused to acknowledge this, "How so?"

"You just hurt me, and I was a prisoner mere hours ago."

"A prisoner..." he repeated, his eyes soft.

"But not anymore... I'll be your wife, if you'll be my husband. A good husband, mind you-"

"You deserve nothing less," he told me firmly.

"Then why did you shake me?"

"I didn't mean to... I'm sorry."

I took his hand, "I forgive you."

He brought my hand to his lips, brushing against the surface. He only needed time to adjust... and he hadn't meant to hurt me...

"Could I make dinner?" I offered as I brought my hand back to clasp my other.

"If you want to," he replied.

"What do we have?"

He gestured to the kitchen, "Go see."

"Oh, wait, before that, would you show me all the things you bought?" I asked, glancing at the still-unopened parcels and packages coating the dining room table.

"If you want... But I thought you opposed that."

"I don't oppose that... I was merely afraid of what they could mean besides that you love me."

"What else could they mean?"

"You know what else."

"You are not a doll!" He cried vehemently, causing me to take a step back. "Where did you get this idea from?"

"Where do you think?" I retorted, concealing my fear, but clutching my arms to my chest for protection. Why was he being like this? "You had a doll of me under the opera house."

"That's not-... that doesn't mean I wanted you to be a doll."

"Then what was the purpose of that thing?... What was the purpose? To scare me half to death when it lunged forward?"

"Christine, do you know what it's like to be wholly alone?"

My eyes softened in empathy, "You know I do... But I didn't make a doll version of my father-"

"That's not what I meant, you know it's not."

I bit my lip, sighing, "You wanted to have company... and even the company of someone who wasn't real was preferable to no one... I'm sorry, it's been troubling me for some time now is all."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, but it was preferable to the unpredictable anger I had just witnessed.

"I'm going to make dinner," he informed me, and I opened my mouth to object. "See if I've purchased anything you like, organize them how you want."

"Erik-" I bit my lip. "Please, I... I would quite like to make dinner myself. It'll make us feel more married, perhaps... Thank you for offering, though, I would just prefer to."

His malformed lips twitched, and his voice came out tense, "If you want to _so very much."_

I swallowed my indignity and went to take inventory. I was a bit overwhelmed with all the spices and the fine cut of beef he had bought; I was used to making myself simple soups and bland chicken.

But it made me feel safer to be doing it all myself. There was so little trust between us, and though I sincerely doubted he intended to take me, I was still so afraid. It was terrible to live in fear, to keep glancing over my shoulder in search of something I prayed would never appear.

"Erik?" I called, realizing I had been stupid not to simply ask for assistance.

He came into the kitchen, and asked rather rudely, "What?"

"I'm sorry... I need help."

"I'm not quite in the mood for helping," he told me, turning to leave.

"I'm sorry I don't trust you, Erik, but please don't be rude."

He paused in the doorway, turning back to me. His features were hard as his mask, and he hesitated to speak.

"When..." he said, his voice crackling a little, "have I ever shown any sign I would violate you?"

I swallowed, glancing down at my feet, "You said before, underneath the opera house... You hinted at it more than once."

"Then why did you marry me, if only to live in fear?"

"Because I _do_ trust you quite a lot in that respect, that's why I came back, only I..." I exhaled. "I don't believe any woman ever fully trusts a man she doesn't know very well. It's only a common fear for women is all, as we're generally smaller and-"

"You know me, though."

"But I _don't_." I argued. "I know you barely at all! All I know is what I've seen since I married you."

His features tensed, "And I haven't been careful with you?"

"Well... I think you've done your best-"

"Ah, but my best is rather poor in your eyes, isn't it?" He said bitterly. "What is the deformed man's best? Far less than another-"

"Why do you twist my words?" I demanded, welling up with hurt. "What does your face have to do with your actions-?"

"Oh, you've shown me it has nothing to do with those, but it deals with expectations. You expect less of me, don't you?"

"No- yes, but not because of your face-"

"Then why?"

"Because you've never been loved," I argued, restraining an indignant sigh. "You've been abused in ways you'll never confide in me, and so you don't know a lot of things, though you won't admit it... But I love you, so yes, I've set my expectations rather low in the hope that you will transcend them. And if you love me you _will_ transcend them."

"What are your expectations?" He said in a mocking tone.

"That you won't hurt me, and that you'll try your best to be kind... a-and no more murders, of course."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. That is all."

"And apparently I have not done well with those-"

"You were doing well, and then-"

"Then what?" He demanded. "What must I swear upon to earn your trust?"

"Nothing," I replied brokenly, "b-because you could break whatever promise you make. You've lied to me for almost all the time I've known you save this past week... And even then, how do I know this isn't also a lie?"

He clenched his fist, "How do _I_?" Then he sighed wearily, "Go look at what I've bought and ridicule them, why don't you? Occupy yourself. Or go hide in your room, if you're so _afraid_ of me."

I resisted the urge to slam the kitchen door behind myself as I left, and I had a mind to run out the front door then and there. He had hurt me, inside, I could feel pain from his words. And there was the lingering soreness on my arm from minutes ago...

What if he wouldn't get better? And what if he hurt me again?

"Let's see my new possessions," I whispered calm myself.

I began to open the white-and-brown-wrapped items coating the table. He had purchased three simple dresses: one in pale blue, another in pastel green, and one in a darker shade of blue. They had small bustles, no ruffles or embroidery, buttons down the bodice, all plain as I had requested.

At least this proved he could listen to me.

I didn't much like the idea of him selecting my underthings, so I set these aside, though my glimpses showed them to be rather fine. There were two nightgowns, both appearing a little long, but I could hem these. Both were a cream color, and with embroidery around the edges in white that seemed floral.

He had neglected only what I had expected him to, but I shouldn't have need of those until the following week, so that wasn't a pressing matter. But he had also bought me a few far more expensive items I had no need of: a shawl that felt like water, real silk stockings, and a few pretty combs to put in my hair. He also bought me a pair of slippers and nice gray boots, though I had two pairs of shoes already that I had brought... True, their soles were worn...

I went up to my room to put everything away. Then I tried on the dresses, needing a distraction more than wanting to view myself in the mirror. Two of these needed to be hemmed, and one was a little too loose about my waist. The pale green fit nearly perfectly, however, so I wore this, put combs in my hair, and stared at my reflection.

Tears gathered behind my eyes. I took deep, shuddering breaths to keep them from falling. This had to get better, it had to, we just needed to trust each other...

Could we ever do that?

I took tentative steps down the stairs, hesitating a moment beside the doorway of the dining room. My wearing what he had bought was to, hopefully, bring him out of his rather cold demeanor.

I stepped into the doorway, and he glanced up from setting the table. He placed the plate in his hand down and straightened up, his eyes examining me in a way I couldn't tell made me feel uncomfortable or admired.

"I like everything," I told him softly.

"There's not much of a point in changing clothes now." He replied, continuing to set the table. "You'll be going to bed soon after this-"

Before I could calm myself, I started to weakly cry, wrapping my arms about myself. Through my tears I saw his entire demeanor shatter. He came over to me, his eyes taut with concern and regret.

"I didn't mean-" but he ceased, searching for something to say. "You look beautiful, Christine, you always look beautiful... Is that why you cry? I didn't mean that you should change back, you look so very beautiful."

He extended his arms out timidly for me, but I made no move to accept them, so they fell back to his sides. I could tell he had no idea what to do with me. _I_ had no idea what to do with me.

Perhaps I had made a foolish decision to come here after all...

"Do you want to... sit down?" He offered.

I took a few shuddering breaths, shaking my head.

"Is this like last night?" He asked, pained. "The same reason?"

I shook my head, sniffling, "It's different... c-could you get me a handkerchief?"

"Yes, of course," he told me, hurrying up to my room.

I leaned against the wall. His voice could do more harm than his hands could ever manage...

He came downstairs with a white handkerchief, and I thanked him for it as I wiped away my tears. Breathe, breathe...

"Why are you upset?" He asked, more gently than before.

I stared at him, "I... thought that the lock being removed... w-would help, but now you're upset with me, and I'm c-crying because my arm hurts, and my head hurts from your words, and I'm so silly for crying because you weren't happy with what I was wearing, and... You h-hurt me."

"I didn't mean to."

"But you _did_ hurt me."

"I won't touch you anymore, then," he offered, "if that will appease you."

"That was an accident before, I mean you spoke just now... like you didn't love me."

"How else am I supposed to reply with you hurling accusations at me?" He retorted, then he put his head in his hands. "Don't cry, please... forgive me, come eat dinner, just forget this happened-"

"Forget? It's going to keep happening over and over and over, isn't it? It happened on the journey here, and now it happened worse, accompanied by physical hurt-"

"Christine, I'm sorry!" He cried desperately, turning away from me to conceal his tears. "Do you think I want to hurt you?"

"Of course not... I know you don't, but it _happened_ -"

"Yes, it happened... a-and you're right, it's going to happen again and again-"

"Erik-"

"-until we both go mad!"

"Erik, no, you can get better, can't you?"

He chuckled bitterly, "Get better? Like I'm sick..."

"I'm scared," I pleaded. "You shook me, and I was scared."

His hand trembled, though he remained facing away from me, "I know you were... You've always been scared of me, even when I was an angel, always..."

"And why is that?" I asked, trying to make him understand.

"Explain to me, you seem to enjoy telling me my innumerable faults."

"That's not my intent-"

"Then what," he asked painfully, " _is_?"

"To help you remedy your faults. Everyone had faults, I do, and I try to fix them-"

"Murder and eating one too many chocolates are quite different, Christine."

"I don't ever eat chocolates- but that's besides the point!" I was becoming indignant at all of this, his tone, his demeanor. "I just want you to love me... That's all I came here for, I know for certain now, I came here to love you, but I can't if you're treating me like this."

He turned around swiftly, and I backed away into the wall. Then he sunk to his knees, as if suddenly without the strength to stand. He kept his eyes on the floor.

I sat down in front of him, quite close, on my knees as well. I extended a trembling hand to his face, and he grabbed it and held it to his chest, shattering.

"I shouldn't have taken you here," he sobbed, caressing my hand rather roughly between his. "It was a mistake... Y-you... you said it yourself, you've put yourself in a cage with _this_." He gestured to his face with disgust. "You can't have children, anything you want, even your possessions are tainted... everything..."

I placed my arms about him, and he curled up awkwardly into me, still tense.

"It'll get better," I whispered. "We'll be better."

I could've sworn he nodded, but he might have only shuddered.

"The food must be cold by now," he whispered against my breast.

"You want to get up?"

"Not yet... u-unless you-?"

"I'll stay as long as you want."

He seemed unable to process this, and pushed me away as he rose with haste, glancing about the room in search of something.

"What's wrong?" I asked, still on the floor.

"I'm not hungry, I need-"

His gaze fell upon the piano, and he removed his violin from the top, placing this in a case. Then he opened the lid of the piano and sat down to play.

"But you haven't eaten-" I argued.

He forced himself to ignore me, and at that point I was so exasperated with him that I dragged my feet into the dining room. I prayed for him, then for Raoul, and stared at my cold steak with my head in my hands.

Poco whined and pawed at my skirt, so I fed him pieces of meat, to his delight. There was a bowl of water in the corner for him that we had placed there before the picnic.

I gave him a bit of baguette, and he continued to whine until I drowned him out with my conflicted thoughts. Erik's playing in the background became a dull hum in my occupied mind.

I must have been finished for quite some time before I realized my plate was bare. I let Poco lick the rest off, causing him to wag his tail so violently his entire body swayed. I went out to Erik while the puppy attempted fruitlessly to pull himself up onto a chair.

"Erik?" I interrupted softly.

His hands hovered over the keys for a moment, wanting to continue, but then they fell into his lap, and he answered with surprising amiability, "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing with me..." I lied, there was so much. "Are you not going to eat?"

"I'm not hungry yet... Why don't you read a book? Or knit, I bought yarn for you."

"We haven't sung together in a while."

I suddenly recalled that the last time we had done so was on the opera stage, singing about passion neither of us truly understood. Why he had chosen to write that opera was beyond me, surely he had never... Unless he had?***

"Would you like to sing now?" He asked.

I smiled gently, "Yes, but I need to clean up dinner-"

"Don't trouble yourself. I'll do that later, sing now."

"By myself?"

"I'll accompany you on piano."

"Okay... I won't be very good at the moment, I fear."

He waved away my words, "Even if you didn't sing for a year, you would be better than all the opera singers in Paris."

"Except you."

"I've never sang in an opera..."

"You did in yours... for a song."

"I suppose..." he said softly. "Did you drink water after you ate?"

"For my voice, yes."

"Good... then let's begin."

We couldn't stop ourselves. Music was an escape from the world into somewhere far more wonderful. I smiled after each piece, returning to my earlier state of happiness and helping Erik to his.

"Are you tired?" He asked. "It must be late..."

I sighed, "I think so... Goodnight... D-do you want a kiss?"

"If you're willing to give one."

I kissed his unmasked cheek, "And give me one, too. If you're willing."

He repeated my action, though more swiftly, and I went up to bed, feeling far better than earlier. I slipped into one of the new nightgowns with a hem that dragged on the floor, then under my covers and blankets, sighing. Poco whined and pawed at the side of the bed, so I pulled him up by the scruff of his neck to sleep at my feet.

He proceeded to take the pillow beside my head instead. I smiled gently, thankful my hope had renewed. Living with Erik would be difficult, incredibly difficult, but not impossible. Not impossible...

And when all else failed, we would have music.

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 **What's up with Erik? Oh, he likes to be in control, a common attitude in abandoned/abused people? So knowing that Christine isn't completely in his power is distressing him in ways he cannot comprehend, and causing him to treat her poorly and regret it moments afterward?**

 **At least, that's my take. But what's Christine supposed to do about that? Give up her control, or try to help him understand her liberty? We'll see...**


	8. Chapter 8: Trust

**CHRISTINE**

I would have slept late the next morning, but I woke to Poco licking my face and giggled.

"What a beautiful day this is," I told him, glancing outside at the leaves sparkling with rain. All night had been a downpour.

I slid out of bed, my hope renewed from last night's music and the smell of damp earth. After wrapping a shawl about my shoulders, I went downstairs to take a bath. In Poco's haste to follow, probably for his breakfast, his little paws caught together halfway down the stairs and he tumbled down the rest of the way with a whimper.

"Oh, Poco," I crooned, "you have to be careful."

He got back on his feet, wagging his tail happily at my attention. I patted his head, laughing.

"Christine?" Erik called from the drawing room.

"Good morning, dear," I replied.

He had been scratching out music at the piano, it seemed, and he set aside his pen as I came over. Why was he still in dress clothes, though? Didn't he have a dressing gown to wear? He hadn't worn one the previous evening...

"Why are you still in your nightgown?" He asked me, not unkindly.

"Because I love it so much."

"You look beautiful... but it's a bit long."

"I know. I'm going to hem it... I actually came down to take a bath, if that's alright-?"

"Of course," he stood up, "I'll make it for you."

"Oh, that's fine, you seem busy composing."

He chuckled, as if the idea was ludicrous, "Too busy composing for you?"

I smiled, relieved that he had returned to a more affectionate and lighthearted demeanor.

"May I?" He asked after he had set aside his music.

"May you what?" I replied.

His voice betrayed how nervous he still was, "Kiss you."

"Oh. Of course."

His hands rose to cup both sides of my face, and I shut my eyes. So strange that his hands had done such horrible things, and yet they had the capability of being so gentle... Perhaps they would only have been so, had he not been shunned and cursed.

He placed his lips upon my forehead, then withdrew. I found myself wishing for him to remain as his hands fell back to his sides, but I dragged myself out of this sentiment.

"A bath, then?" He said, his voice pale with happiness.

I looked up into his eyes and found them glassy, "Yes, please."

He turned and went away to do so, perfectly content with the chaste kiss. Why had he not kissed my lips? Surely he knew that was what I had expected, and he was at full liberty to do so had he desired.

But I felt safer from it. Perhaps he was intending that, to make me trust him, or simply shy. Imagine, the phantom of the opera, shy and afraid of simple affection!

I went upstairs to occupy myself with hemming my new dresses. It was quite tedious, as I had to put on the dress, measure the length, pin or mark where it needed to be hemmed to, then remove it and sew the end underneath. I had nearly finished two- the light blue dress and the other nightgown- when Erik came upstairs and knocked on my door to tell me that my bath was ready.

I brought my light blue dress down, which I had hemmed a little shorter than I would've preferred, as well as a towel. Before going into the kitchen, however, I turned to Erik, who was putting on his jacket to go outside.

"Erik?" I said gently.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, fastening the buttons.

"Oh, no, I'm fine. I was just wondering, are you going into town now?"

"No, I need to tend to our growing menagerie. I might later, if the ground dries up enough; I don't want to drive the cart through mud... Why do you ask? Do you need something?"

"Well, yes, actually... But I don't need them just yet. I'll be fine until next week... I think."

"What do you need?" He inquired kindly.

"Well..." I blushed. "I need woman... things."

"That's rather vague."

"Like... napkins."

"I was unaware those were for a specific sex."

"That's not-..." I sighed. "I know what they are."

"Why didn't you simply ask to come into town with me?"

"Because you said no yesterday... I assumed you would do the same today."

"Because I said no yesterday, I'm inclined to say the same today?"

"Yes... You said you would prefer it if I remained here, the wife in the house, like normal-"

"That's not what I said-"

"It's close."

"But you're not a normal wife," he argued. "And I don't want you to be."

"Well, thank you for changing your mind..." I said, pensive. "Am I strange for never having wanted to marry before? Never wanting children, or to keep a house... Is that odd?"

"I don't think it matters here."

I smiled, taking his hands in mine and kissing them, "Thank you..."

"What for?"

"Comforting me, forgetting yesterday, listening to me... Thank you."

He gave a slight nod, then glanced at my shoulder, seeming to have been distracted by it, "May I see your arm?"

"My arm?" I asked, my voice frail.

"Is there... Is there a mark?"

"From yesterday? I-I don't think so."

"But you haven't checked."

"Erik-"

"I want to know."

I searched for an excuse, "I don't think my sleeve will roll up far enough... But it's alright-"

"Alright?!" He said, barely containing himself. "You think it's alright that...?" Then he sighed irritably, turning away from me. "Just go bathe."

I placed a hand on his shoulder, "It was an accident... and I doubt it will happen again, I know it won't."

He stared at me for a moment, then continued out the door without a word. Avoiding problems was certainly how he expected them to disappear.

I could've pursued him, but perhaps avoiding problems seemed pleasant to me, too, for I went into the kitchen. I needed to be more careful with what I said to Erik, though; he was so fragile. He wasn't used to all of this, and I was giving him precious little time to simply adjust. No wonder his emotions were all over the place.

Once I had finished my bath, I dressed and dried my hair as best I could. When I glanced into my lone mirror, I realized I looked like a little girl with my dress a little short and my hair down. Surely Erik didn't see me as that? He saw me as a woman... didn't he?

The front door opened, and I pursued the sound.

"Erik?" I called.

No reply.

"Erik?... Why do you ignore me?" I asked. "At least tell me you don't want to speak, and I'll be silent."

I heard a sigh, "I don't want you to be silent..."

He was tending to the fire, his back to me, and I sat down beside him. The flames made his mask glow.

"Is there a mark?" He whispered.

"A... a little one, not much."

His fist clenched around the black stoker, and he set it aside rather loudly with the others.

"I can't do this," he confessed. "I can't make you do this-"

"I came here of my own will," I replied simply. "I came here-"

"Did you sacrifice yourself?"

"What?"

"Did you come here knowing fully well that that could happen?"

I bit my lip, "No... I had thought before that you were only so furious that you had hurt me without meaning to, and I didn't think you would again... But it wasn't like you intentionally hurt me this time, or hit me-"

"And what if I do?"

"You won't," I whispered, staring into his eyes trying to hide their fear. "You love me... And you haven't been so horrible at all, not like you must think. I can't imagine how hard this is for you, going from living beneath an opera house in solitude to being here with me... And the things I said yesterday, and even today, I shouldn't have said them the way I did, I was being cruel-"

"You don't have the capacity to be cruel," he replied, turning to me. "Even when you betrayed my trust, it wasn't to be cruel..."

"And there's so much of you that isn't cruel either. You need only allow it to come out."

He smiled bitterly, "You think the world is so simple..."

"You've shown me it's not."

He glanced back at the flames, prodding them, "And is that a good thing?"

"Yes... I know so much now that I never would've without you."

We were silent for a moment, burning our eyes as we gazed into the fire.

"What should I allow to come out?" Erik asked. "What suggestions do you have, my dear?"

I placed my hand on his, and he flinched. Then I brought it to my cheek, shutting my eyes at the warm sensation.

"This," I whispered.

My eyelids fluttered open, but too late, for my cruel mind had pretended that Raoul was caressing my cheek, not Erik. Hot tears welled up behind my eyes.

"You want me to touch you?" He asked, awed.

I nodded, as that was all I could manage without bursting into tears.

"Are you quiet because you're content?" He said hopefully, rubbing his thumb along my jawline.

I found myself clinging to him without warning, and his hands shot up in confusion at why I was suddenly wrapped about his middle. My eyes were stinging painfully now, but I kept the tears inside.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his voice pale with concern.

I shook my head against his chest.

"What upset you?"

"Nothing..." I whispered.

"What upset you?" He demanded more harshly, and I began to cry quietly into his waistcoat. "Christine, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

All I could manage was to shake my head and cling harder. His hands began to wrap around me, but suddenly I was shoved away from him and he stood up, tense with distress.

"Why don't we play music?" He offered, obviously trying to distract me. "Or, or, have you had breakfast?"

I shook my head weakly.

"Let me make you something, don't cry, sit down and wait for me," he said as he hurried into the kitchen.

I rubbed my tears onto my sleeve. I missed Raoul like I would miss a family member, and truly, he was my family. For six months he had been my everything. I had been his fiancée and ran to him with my worries and fears, and he had confessed all his heart to me as well. Even with the plan to capture Erik, he had not kept anything from me. I had known full well that my actions could lead to the murder of my teacher, and that was what had made me obey when they told me to remain onstage. I would have run without a second thought even after they had told me to, had I not known that my actions could prove fatal to my angel.

Erik brought me a tartine and a fried egg as I sat at the table with my chin on my hands, deep in melancholy thought.

"Are you better?" He asked hopefully as I took it from him.

"A little... only homesick." I sniffled. "But I've coped with it before, it'll pass."

"One of our chickens laid that egg."

I gave a frail smile, "Oh? You didn't tell me you had collected any earlier."

"I forgot."

I took a bite and said softly, "It's good."

"Are you being polite?"

"No, but yes... Are you going to watch me or compose some more?"

"I don't think I'll compose anymore today."

"Why not?"

"You're more interesting."

I smiled gently and finished my breakfast with him beside me. He took my plate away for me, and I went upstairs to fetch some knitting. I needed to make him that scarf.

He had placed himself in the armchair beside the fireplace, which faced the sofa that I occupied. His gaze seemed no more than curiosity, and perhaps I should've disliked it, but instead it felt comforting to have him there, watching.

"How wide do you want it?" I asked him as I looped white circles about the needles.

"Whatever is easiest for you," he replied.

"I think fifteen loops is good, nice and warm."

The tinkling of needles filled the silence.

"How long have you been knitting?" He asked.

"I learned from a lady in Sweden when I was eight. So that would be... thirteen years."

"Are you good at it?"

"I think so. I like making socks for the winter to put over my others, then I can still use the ones with holes in them."

He glanced over at me, but I kept my eyes on my work.

"I didn't know you were so poor," he said. "You never said anything about that."

"Poor? I wasn't poor. I had food to eat, a bed to sleep in, and whatever I could save I spent on dresses. Appearance is such an important part of life in the opera house, and that drained my finances mostly... Erik, I've been in poverty. I've not had a bed, nor food, nor a change of clothes. That was so long ago, but I remember it well... Where I was in Paris was quite comfortable in comparison, and though you may have fine tastes, I never wanted anything more than that. I had everything I could ever need, and I had my angel of music to fill my soul."

"But then, you said you brought two hundred francs with you."

"Well, yes. Most of my small inheritance, what my father had been saving for me... I hadn't needed to spend it, really, and it was best to have it available should anything terrible happen."

"Saving two hundred francs..." he chuckled. "This place must be rather luxurious to you."

"I love this house, and where it is," I told him, glancing down to be sure I hadn't missed a loop. "And it's nice to not have to worry about money anymore, I suppose... I never really thought about that, to be honest, that if I married someone I wouldn't have to trouble myself with finances or anything of that nature. It's less liberty, to be sure, but it is nice. And I have my two hundred francs, of course."

"Why did you bring it for yourself?" He inquired, his tone lower.

"What do you mean? I couldn't very well leave it-"

"Why have you kept it separate?"

"I... I just want to. And I thought it would be nice so I could buy you gifts."

"Gifts?" He inquired in confusion.

"Well, for Christmas, and I thought your birthday, but... I suppose we could make up a birthday for you, if you wanted."

"No..."

"Do you think I'm keeping the money so I can run away?" I asked softly.

"What else would you need it for?"

I stood up, pushing my needles into the white ball of yarn and heading upstairs.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"To alleviate your concerns," I replied, going into my room and pulling out my two hundred francs.

But my breath caught. I was effectively placing a new lock upon the door. Surely I didn't trust him enough yet? Or would I have to blindly give him the money and simply hope he would trust and respect me more?

I slipped twenty francs into a sock and hid this in my dresser. It certainly wouldn't be enough to get to Paris, but I could send a letter to Raoul with it and have some to spare. That was all I needed.

Would he count it, though? I would have to lie if he did...

I went back downstairs, the money in an envelope. He was standing there, staring at me, as I extended it to him.

"I believe it's actually a little less than two hundred," I told him.

He took it slowly, running his finger over the envelope. I clasped my hands in my skirts.

"Perhaps something is wrong with you," he whispered.

I saw him barely shift his hand to give it back, but then he clutched it anew. Perhaps I had imagined the action.

"Now do you trust me?" I asked softly.

He brushed back my hair from my face, "Yes... I trust you."

I didn't believe him, because I was certain he didn't believe me. But I was so overjoyed at his words that I kissed his cheek and asked to sing with him.

Perhaps that had remedied it.

* * *

 **RAOUL**

"My dearest Raoul,

Forgive me. I am terrible to leave you with a note and nothing more. I love you, but we both know I am not good for you. I am not good enough for you. You have given up everything for me, even suggesting we run away to Sweden if your relatives opposed our marriage enough to prevent it. You nearly gave your life for me.

So I am setting you free. Anything that occurs to me now is my own doing, so please do not trouble yourself with me. It is my own fault if I have been irrational. Anything that occurs is the result of my actions, and not any fault of yours. Please do not blame yourself for any of this.

If you love me, and I know you do, more than I deserve, then do this for me: find someone to love you. You are young, wealthy, and the most handsome man I have ever seen. You should be able to find a finer woman than I whom your family will approve of. Please, do this for me. I cannot bear the thought of causing you pain.

I shall try to explain myself more thoroughly; my soul is bound to my angel of music. I cannot leave him, even if I went across the ocean, he would still be inside my very soul. I do not love him like I do you, but I have to go to him regardless of love. I am going to marry him and run away to wherever he chooses. Please do not pursue me.

I beg you to forgive me. Know that you will be in my thoughts and my heart always.

Love,

Christine Daaé"

It was a week after I had first read that. I kept it on my desk and couldn't help but collapse in tears every time I looked at it.

Christine's captor was a genius, Madame Giry had told me, so he had left no trace of their whereabouts. The police were clueless, and my family told me to let her go... Let her go...

What had happened to her now? I had seen this man toss her around without a care, shout at her, and show complete disregard for her livelihood. I had watched helplessly, and now I sat helplessly in my room, at my desk, contemplating what to do now that the police knew nothing.

I had to find her. But how? Where could she have gone? For all I knew, he could be taking her across the ocean.

She had seemed so confident he wouldn't hurt her. How could she be? She was innocent, yes, but surely she knew that he was a man with the capability to make her life hell, and he had already practically done so.

I started to weep again. I just wanted to know she was okay, and not chained up in some house in the middle of nowhere. The very thought tore me to pieces.

I had to find her, if only to be sure she was safe. I had to.

Philippe knocked on my bedroom door, "Raoul? Raoul, it's not healthy to wall yourself up in your room. I know you're upset, but-"

"Come in," I told him, setting the letter aside and rubbing away my tears.

His eyes found the letter as he entered, and he sighed, "I know you loved her, but you showed me that. She chose to leave."

"She wasn't thinking straight-"

"Raoul, thinking straight or not, she left. You can't go running off after her-"

"But it's my fault," I explained desperately. "It's my fault, I let her go alone, I thought she was being honest, I should've taken better care of her, she still wasn't fully well. She was acting strangely all morning, and I... I let her go."

Philippe's blue eyes were soft with pity, "At least come down for lunch."

Was Christine fed? Surely the monster wouldn't withhold food from her, would he? Surely...

"I'll come down tomorrow," I told him.

"You said that yesterday."

"I know I did..."

"Why this fast? Do you think this girl wants you to starve for her?"

"Have the servants bring up my lunch, then."

He folded his lips, "Take care of yourself."

Then he left, shutting the door quietly behind himself. I ran my hands through my hair, as if that would help me reach a conclusion.

I had to find her. Somehow, I would find her, and if she needed to be taken away, I would do whatever she asked.

I didn't even care if she loved me anymore; I cared that she lived.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **Oh, snap, is Raoul going after her now? How's that going to go down? Don't worry, that's the last we'll see of him for a long while, though, I promise ;)**


	9. Chapter 9: Sweet Intoxication

**Both POVs this chapter! And I'm trying to distance this Christine interpretation from my others. She appears far more childish and sappy, but I think this chapter really explains her and shows that she has a perceptive side to her and, still, a backbone.**

 **Okay, and explanation time. Christine (and Erik, to a lesser extent) are going to bounce back and forth on how they perceive their love, like *gasp* real people! Cue more intense wrestling with emotions next few chapters for our selfless heroine and her strange husband!**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **CHRISTINE**

"Can you ride a horse well?" I asked as I sat down to continue the growing scarf.

Erik was shuffling music at the piano. We had just finished singing together.

"What do you mean?" He said, his features softening around his mask.

"Well, I... I've always wanted to learn."

He sat down in his armchair, "I don't know much about riding side-saddle."

"Well, I could ride the other way. I don't mind... Do you?"

He stared at me in disbelief, "You would prefer to wear pants rather than simply learn how to ride another way?"

"It's not like I haven't worn pants before, Erik, and in front of a good portion of Paris, no less."

"I prefer not to remember that..."

"I'm sorry-"

He waved away my words, "No, none of that... I'll see what I can procure for you."

I beamed, "Thank you so much... Actually, could we go on a walk? I feel like I've been sitting down all day."

"It's still rather wet outside."

"A little mud won't kill me."

He smirked, "Alright, then, we'll go on a walk before lunch. Don't wear your new boots, though."

"Of course," I replied, setting my knitting into a basket. "I'm not a child, dear, I know not to wear new shoes on a muddy day."

I went upstairs to put on my old boots, the soles of which were worn thin. They had once been black, but they had grayed at the edges, and the laces were a tad frayed. No wonder Erik had bought me new ones...

I had him show me around the exterior of the house. There was a small clearing in the back, with tree stumps around the edge, and this was where the chicken coop resided.

"Are you going to buy a rooster?" I asked. "We could have chicks in the spring."

"I'll buy one then, it'll be easier."

"Have you named them?"

"Named them?" He scoffed good-naturedly. "No."

"Could I?"

He gestured to the coop, "Be my guest."

I gave an involuntary shiver at his words, but proceeded to the hens.

"You know we'll eventually eat them," he told me.

"But I still want to name them. I've always liked naming things. I even named my father's violin as a girl."

"What did you name it?"

I blushed, "Erik, actually, if you believe me."

A flicker of a smile rose on his lips.

"Hmm," I said sweetly, being playful with him again as I had before. "That one ought to be named Speckles... and that one will be Stars."

"How fitting for a speckled chicken and a _darker_ speckled chicken."

"You're making fun of me."

"Of course not-"

"No, no, it's fine, I sound so silly, don't I?" I sighed. "Perhaps I am. People think I'm such a child just because I'm so happy all the time. They think I'm naive and can't think for myself... What do you think of me? Would you be honest?"

"I love you," he replied.

I smiled gently, "And how do you love me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You asked me before, now I want to ask you. How do you love me?"

"How do I love you?" He repeated. "How would you love the only person to ever be kind to you?"

"I didn't mean to upset you," I told him, as he had tensed. "I was just..."

"Curious."

"No- well, yes, I wanted to know... Who do you see me as? Describe me, in your words."

"Kind."

I waited for him to continue, "I-is that all?"

"Is there more?"

"You can describe me in one word?"

"I can describe no one else with it," he retorted. "Are you offended that I didn't go rambling on about how lovely and talented you are? How brave and selfless? Because I don't care so much. I love you because you are _kind_... Too kind..."

I reached out for his hand, "You're kind, too, Erik. You want to be."

"Then you _are_ naive," he replied, pulling away from me. "You think all people want to be good, don't you? You think they all mean well?"

"Well... Yes, I suppose, in a way, but not always."

"You think I mean well?"

"With me."

"With you..." he repeated, pensive. "Well, I'm glad I've taken you away from the rest of the world. People don't mean well, none of them. Perhaps they do to you, because you are young, kind, beautiful, and contain the voice of an angel. But they are selfish... You may be the only person who truly means to sacrifice herself for the good of a single person, and you _have_ sacrificed yourself."

"You're glad you took me away from the world?" I asked, quivering with emotion. "Perhaps that's why everyone thinks I'm innocent and naive, they all want to hide me away. I wasn't allowed into most of the ballet girls' conversations, you know, I was too pure. They called me pure like it was an insult, something to be ashamed of. Well, I'm not ashamed, but I don't want your shelter. My father showed me Sweden and France but he hid me from anything that wasn't something out of a dream. Then, when I joined the opera house, I didn't have a protector. Madame Giry had a class to teach; she couldn't be concerned with concealing me. But I didn't see cruelty. I saw so much pain. Everyone tries and tries to be kind, because that's the only thing that can make them happy, and yet so many give up because it's easier not to, and I pity them. Anyone who has ever called me 'pure' like it was a sin, who has ever been anything but welcoming and kind, I pity them. And whether you like it or not, Erik, I pity you, because you're just like them. You want to be kind and you simply don't know how. You weren't raised to be kind, and the only way you can be is with me, and even then you know very well it's difficult... I came to let you be kind. That's the best I've explained myself yet, but I feel it's the most honest... I came to let you be kind, because I've loved you ever since you were an angel. And though it may not be the love of a wife to her husband, it most certainly is that of a friend... Is that enough for you?"

"I told you before, it's enough."

I smiled gently.

"You're rather insightful," he told me.

"I only like to think aloud, but thank you."

"I love you."

I smiled again, "I love you, too."

There was a heavy silence.

I pointed to a hen, "And the white one is Snowflake."

He seemed amused, "I suppose naming them after inanimate objects won't make them harder to eat... Where else do you want to walk to?"

"What's down that way? The town?"

"Well, yes, but the road goes into a fork."

"Oh? And which one to take? I must've not noticed before, it was dark... N-not that I-"

"Actually, I'm rather hungry for lunch, why don't we go inside?"

I turned to him, "You still don't trust me, do you?"

His hand twitched, "We've already discussed this."

"But you said you trusted me-"

"You asked a question that was blatantly asking how to get to the town."

"And why can't I know that?"

"Do you need to?"

"Well... no, but-"

"Then we're agreed."

His hand extended to mine, but I pulled mine away to clutch my other, my eyes lowered. I knew holding a grudge was far from what we needed, so after a moment of hesitation, I obliged him my hand.

"I'm going to make soup," I told him firmly as the door shut behind us.

"That's fine... May I?" He asked, gesturing to my cloak.

I nodded. He undid the fastening from in front of me and hung it up.

"Thank you," I told him.

He gave his unsure, barely-there smile again, and I went to make soup. It made me feel more like a wife. I needed to settle into this role, regardless of what Erik said, he ought to be dissatisfied with our strange marriage. By normal standards, it barely was one.

But in this house, away from Paris and all we had known, no one could tell us so. We were quite free, he more than I, but we were free to live in whatever way he pleased. He knew that.

"Erik?" I called, setting two places and ladling soup. "Erik, lunch is ready."

A door opened upstairs, and I remembered I hadn't seen his bedroom. Not that I wanted to, it didn't really matter, but I was insatiably curious.

He came downstairs and made a move to sit.

"Wait, um," I told him, searching for a polite way to explain. "Erik, it's polite to, well, the man should- I'm sorry for not telling you this earlier, it's not your fault- the man should allow his lady to sit first, then be seated himself. And he should pull out her chair. It's just a way to show... respect, I suppose. That you care for me."

He had frozen in place. Had I offended him?

I bit my lip, "I-if you don't want to-"

"No, no, of course," he said softly, coming over and pulling out my chair from the table.

I smiled, sitting down, "Thank you."

He went to the other side and sat as well, asking in his cold manner that could either be humor or cruelty, "Have I offended you in any other ways?"

"You didn't offend me. I only thought you would want to know."

"And I expect I wait for you to pray?"

"I only pray at dinner and at night. We can eat now."

I blew on a spoonful of soup, and he mimicked me. During the journey, he had attempted to hide himself when he ate, if he could, and when this was impossible, he was simply cautious.

"Is it good?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"Very good," he replied.

Silence again.

"Do you miss Paris?" I inquired.

His spoon tumbled from his hand to the floor, and Poco rushed to lick it.

"Damn," Erik muttered, going into the kitchen.

It intrigued me that he had cursed. He hadn't cursed since when I came to promise myself to him. Like everyone else, he wanted to preserve my innocence and shelter me, even if he was a murderer. It was... ironic, almost.

"Yours has to cool first, Poco," I told the little puppy pawing at my skirt. "It's almost ready for you, I think, be patient."

He whined. I expected Erik to return promptly, but as the minutes wore on, I called for him, "Erik?"

No answer.

"Erik?" I called again.

What was he doing? I knew I ought to leave him alone, but I couldn't stand it, so I went into the kitchen. Upon finding it devoid of him, I opened the door to the cellar.

"Erik?" I whispered into the darkness.

He was facing the corner, but he turned to me, "Is there something pressing?"

"Are you alright?"

He inhaled with a sniffle, "When someone hides in a cellar, what do you think they want?"

"To be alone."

"So permit me that."

My chest welled up with hurt, "You don't want to be with me? Just tell me what's wrong, I can help-"

"I want to be alone, child!" He snapped.

I shut the door. As I came into the kitchen I found Poco dangling off the side of my chair in an attempt to get to my soup.

"Come here, Poco," I called weakly, setting down his bowl that had been left to cool.

He came bounding over to me, trembling in rhythm with his golden tail. I patted his head as he buried his nose in the bowl.

After finishing mine, not without a few tears from hurt, I sat down in the living room with my knitting.

'Child...' he had called me 'child,' like an insult... like 'pure' or 'innocent...' like I was stupid... I knew he hadn't meant it, but...

I counted the rows of white, waiting for him. I had never truly liked being alone, though I had been forced to tolerate it. The only time I had ever enjoyed it was because loneliness went hand in hand with liberty. A woman could be free, should she be by herself.

Fifteen rows were complete when the cellar door reopened, and Erik emerged from the kitchen. He had a weary air about him and seemed in no haste to see me.

"Could you sit with me?" I asked gently. "You don't have to talk, but since we're married, we should-"

"I'm going out for a little while," he informed me.

I blinked, "Where to?"

"Nowhere... Alone."

I opened my mouth to protest but was tired of arguing, so instead I said, "When will you come back?"

He paused in buttoning his jacket, then resumed, "An hour or so."

"If you need it," I replied coldly, thinking quickly as he began to open the door. "Could you bring me back a flower, if you can?"

"It's not spring," he replied, shutting the door behind himself as he left.

I heard him saddling the horse. It left at a gentle trot, and I watched it go, flinging mud up from behind.

I pulled Poco up onto my lap, "You're my husband now, apparently."

He wagged his tail, covering my face in kisses.

I giggled, then started to cry and brought him to my chest tight enough to make him yelp, and he plopped down onto the floor. Then I curled up in a ball on the sofa, facing the pink cushions.

What _did_ I feel for Erik?

And why should I feel anything at all?

* * *

 **ERIK**

I was suffocating in that house. Christine was so beautiful, so kind, so _intoxicating_ , that I felt utterly helpless with her. It was a feeling I was entirely unused to, and I despised it... but I loved Christine. I loved her more than I ever had before, and each day it seemed I found myself more and more unable to breathe whenever she turned her blue eyes to meet mine, her soft pink lips curling up in a smile.

I needed to escape from her, for an hour, just an hour, to clear my head from its drunken state at the sight and sound of her.

How magnificent she was! Love had perhaps blinded me, but there was no one in this world more beautiful, more kind, more selfless, than she was. And to think she was here with me, _married_ to me, _mine..._

I needed air.

It was only after I had started to head back home from my ride that I realized she could be crying. To think I hadn't even considered that! How difficult it was to worry about another person. I had only been troubled with myself for all my life, and now I had her.

She was perfectly independent, of course. I only had to concern myself with her emotions, as she could care for her needs herself. But emotions, they were unpredictable. I couldn't even understand my own, how was I supposed to tend to hers? How would I make her happy? I had let her go to accomplish that, and though having her with me was far better, I couldn't fathom attaining her happiness.

I returned home regardless, and found the living room vacant. There was a mass of knitting upon the sofa, accompanied by a sleeping puppy curled in a golden ball.

My breath caught. Had she left? No, no, she couldn't, unless she had been that upset? Had I yelled? I couldn't remember yelling, but had I hurt her?

"Christine?" I called as calmly as I could, rushing upstairs. "Christine?"

Silence. Oh, g-

"I'm in my room," she replied, softer than normal. "You can come in."

I exhaled in relief, entering to find her pinning up her hair in the combs I had bought. Her reflected face in the mirror, however beautiful, was wan.

"Are you better now?" She asked, continuing to stare at her melancholy reflection rather than me.

"I am."

She pushed a pin into her nest of brown curls, "May I have an apology?"

"For what?"

"For shouting at me, calling me 'child,' leaving me alone with barely a word of apology for earlier."

I hesitated, but managed, "I'm sorry."

"Thank you," she said, a small spark coming into her features as she turned to me. "And I shouldn't have been so upset at you leaving, you should have time to be alone..." She glanced at the mirror. "What do you think?"

"You look like a dream."

"But I'm not a dream," she told me, pensive. "I'm quite real..."

"Shall we sing?" I offered.

"I missed you," she whispered.

"I was only gone an hour-"

"Two hours."

"But why did you miss me?"

The idea was laughable. I had thought she might be delighted at my absence.

"You're all I have," she replied.

"You have your dog-"

"My dog?" She asked, her kind eyes soft. "You're my husband."

"Husbands leave their wives at home all the time-"

"But I _missed_ you."

Was she tearing up? What was she trying to say, 'she missed me?' It was like that meant something, something I was meant to understand.

She took a step towards me, and another, and she gradually wrapped her arms about me and pressed her face against my shoulder. My heart reminded itself to beat.

"I know this is difficult for you," she whispered. "You didn't mean what you said, I know you didn't mean a word-"

"Shh," I replied, not exactly trying to be consoling, simply wanting to selfishly savor the warm sensation of her against me.

Then her arms fell from me, and the warmth was gone. I had a sudden desire to kiss her, but I shoved this away rather than ruin another moment. I was ruining everything...

"I'm going to go knit some more," she told me.

I blocked the doorway, and she faltered in confusion.

"You return after ignoring me and now refuse to let me leave?" She said.

"Did you cry?" I asked, my voice wavering far too much for comfort. "While I was gone?"

"I was being stupid-"

"Don't say that!" I snapped, and she stepped backwards, startled. "Why must you berate yourself?"

"I don't know... But I am naive. You can't deny that."

I couldn't.

"I cried," she confessed with a sigh. "You left in such a hurry, without a kind word or goodbye, and I... I don't know, I cried... I know you didn't mean what you said, but your words hurt, you know. And I think I'm a bit more sensitive to your words than to others'."

"I didn't intend to make you cry."

"Of course not. You love me."

She said it with such confidence. She truly believed I would never intentionally hurt her. Was that why she forgave so quickly? She thought people always intended well?

I didn't ever want her to know how wrong she was, but at least she was not wrong about me... I hoped.

She approached me in sudden confusion, her eyes lowering upon my jacket.

"When did that tear?" She asked me, pressing her finger to a frayed part on the edge.

I glanced down, "I must've caught it on a branch and not noticed. Why?"

"Let me mend it."

Did... did she just offer that? Like I would allow her to trouble herself with something of mine that I could care for well enough myself?

"I've mended my clothes all my life," I retorted.

Her face fell, "I'm trying to be a wife to you."

"I don't want you mending clothes and cooking meals-"

"Why not?" She replied, evidently confused. "What do you want, then?"

"I just want... I... I want you here is all. Just be yourself."

"I'm not a doll to be placed inside a house, and I would like to trouble myself with your jacket button. This is me being myself... Please, I've mended my clothes all my life, too."

I found myself removing the jacket with only a moment's hesitation. She beamed in triumph. Had anyone else worn such a sentiment before me, I would have murdered them, but she owned me with her smile.

I found myself, again, loving and despising this growing feeling of breathless helplessness.

"Thank you," she told me, kissing my cheek and placing a hand upon my mask.

I pushed her away, my body responding to the learned fear of her curious hands upon that surface.

I tried to explain, "I didn't-"

"Don't think you'll be wearing that thing much longer," she told me, slipping out the doorway before I could blink.

I felt the place her lips had been. To think that a chaste kiss could be so incredible, warm and soft, filling my cold heart to the brim with light. There was no word, nor combination of words, that could describe the joy produced by a single touch from her.

I found myself blossoming with desire again. It was not as before; it was more profound more... pure. Of course, still had full control over myself, something my nightmares never permitted, but I wanted to be with her. I wanted to kiss her and hold her, but I wanted her to want me to. I wanted her to feel safe with me, to trust me with all of her.

Would she ever? Of course not, it was useless hoping for what would never come to pass, and moreover, still, should never.

And yet I wanted more... I was mortal, after all. Regardless of its truth or lack of, the Bible was accurate in the tale of the Forbidden Fruit.

I wanted what would surely curse me for eternity.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **Three days of being married and you can see Christine's already becoming a little worn down by Erik. She's not as spunky as before, is she? She rather weakly confronts him... or is that her trying to be gentler with him?**

 **Hmmm... ;)**


	10. Chapter 10: Routine

**CHRISTINE**

What did Erik want from me? I was on the sofa, mending his jacket with needle and thread, the proper image of a wife, and he was sitting in his armchair, a hand propping up his chin, as he attempted to _ignore_ me.

"Erik?" I asked gently, snipping the black thread. "Would you tell me, what were you expecting marriage to be like?"

His gaze was intent upon the fire, and he replied quietly, "The traditional view, I suppose..."

"And what changed you?"

He brushed his thumb against his jaw, "I didn't know you."

"You've known me for almost a year-"

"No, no, I've known you for... seven days now? Seven days since we left Paris?"

"I think so. It feels like longer."

Silence.

"You were sort of..." he said, hesitant, "a fantasy."

I paused, waiting for him to continue, and it seemed he wouldn't, as his eyes were so intent upon the flames.

"It's strange," he said, with an airy laugh in mockery of himself. "I made you into the exact opposite of what I should have as your teacher. I gave you back the light in your eyes, and with your renewed spirit, you weren't quiet and submissive anymore. I made it impossible for you to fit what I wanted... You were a... an accessory of sorts. You know, a house with a wife inside. You weren't Christine at all. I suppose that was why I was so upset you wouldn't comply with my demands," he chuckled. "It's rather humorous to think I almost tried to take away Christine in favor of a wife, when that would only have made the both of us miserable..."

"Then you're happy with this? I was worried you were upset."

He shuffled his hands again, "I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"Well, does this feel right to _you_? Don't you miss home?"

I glanced around, "Yes... I miss home... I don't know, though. This feels right, I think, or at least it will. I just need to get used to it... And you?"

He continued looking away from me.

"Is something on your mind?" I asked, examining my needlework.

"It's just so _strange_ ," he told me, rising, perhaps in irritation. "Normal people do this every single day?"

"Well... yes."

"They just sit around and talk and make meals?"

"What did you expect it to be like?" I asked in confusion. "You wanted to be married-"

"I didn't say I didn't like it; I said it was strange."

"Normal couples don't make music like us, though," I smiled.

"And the husband has a whole face-"

"Don't bring that up-"

"Why? Doesn't it bother you?"

"The mask bothers me."

"More than what lies beneath?"

"Of course."

"Well, of course, then!" He said with false happiness, pulling it off and turning to face me with fire in his eyes. "By all means, my wife must love to look at her handsome husband!"

He was standing before me now, perhaps attempting to be frightening, but all he received were my resigned eyes.

"Why must you make this so hard?" I asked, filling with pain. "Why can't you just accept my words as truth?... Yes, you're not physically handsome, Erik, I'm not going to lie to you. But I don't care! You are always so angry at me when I'm only trying to help and I just want to know _why_?"

His eyes cleared, and he backed away, gingerly running a hand over his deformity.

"We're never going to survive like this, yelling at each other over simple things," I told him, "and I'm at fault, too. It's been three days of marriage and I'm already tired of it. We can't keep rounding on each other and arguing, or else there's no hope of us loving each other... Please, just _relax_ , I will too, just take a breath and know that this is our life, and we can't ruin it this early on, or else I don't think we'll be able to fix it... Please, Erik, trust me when I tell you things. I'm telling the truth... We must trust each other."

I reached my arms out for him, but he didn't notice.

"You've been so honest..." he said softly, staring at the fire. "You're rather good at explaining things, you know, expressing yourself."

"I think women are a bit better at it than men, if it makes you feel any better."

He replaced his mask, asking blankly, "Did I frighten you?"

"No."

He gave a blank nod, starting towards the stairs.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To my room," he replied, his voice weary.

A moment later I heard a door shut, and I sighed. Poco yawned and unraveled beside me, his golden tail beginning to wag.

I set aside the jacket, which I had finished without realizing it, "How long do you think he'll need, Poco?"

The puppy began to paw at my skirts and whimper, and I smiled, leaning down to pat his head. I suddenly realized how odd it had been for Erik to buy him. Didn't he want all my time to himself, and now I would be distracted with this darling creature?

He was away for an hour while I adored my puppy. He had a little piece of rope to play with, but no other toys save that. It seemed he refused to tire of it, though.

Erik's footsteps began downstairs as I fed Poco some pieces of bread for a treat. I glanced over at Erik and beamed, dropping the rest, to Poco's delight.

"I finished your jacket," I told him, extending it out to him."

"Thank you..."

"Are you much better now?" I asked hopefully.

"Fine..." He went to the window, staring out of it for a moment. "The ground seems to have dried up... Do you want to go into town now?"

"Really? Could we?"

"Of course."

I kissed him, swiftly upon his malformed lips, and he took a minute step back in surprise at this sudden action. He dragged his hand against the surface, trying to renew the sensation of my lips upon his.

"Was that too fast?" I asked.

"No, no, it was..." He seemed unable to come up with a description.

"I could try again if it wasn't satisfactory."

He blinked in surprise, "There's no need... U-unless you want to, which-"

"Why don't we, actually, why don't I show you more properly?"

"Show me?"

"I'm sorry, Erik dear, but you have no idea how to kiss me and I want to show you. I haven't properly yet."

"If that's what you want," he asked, his voice frail in confusion.

I took his hands, slowly and gently, and placed them upon my waist. I had feared I might shy away from this, but I found it to be surprisingly pleasant. A tremor was beginning to build in Erik, I could feel it starting in his hands, warm as they encased me.

"This is how you hold me," I informed him.

He gave no sign.

I was suddenly afraid of moving closer to him. When Raoul and I kissed, we had been so closely pressed that neither could breathe, but Erik was a breath away... Raoul's kisses... knowledgeable and purposeful... perfectly seeking my lips...

I kissed Erik to rid myself of this thought, and his hands fell limp upon my waist. There was a familiar feeling of lightheadedness and warmth, but something different to it that I could not point out. Below the surface of the kiss was some form of secret or other, an intangible something that I had never felt with Raoul.

Erik must have tasted a tear on my lips because he swiftly broke the kiss, pulling away from me. His breathing was oddly heavy for such a short moment.

"You're crying," he whispered. "You asked for me to kiss you, why do you cry? Was I supposed to say no-?"

"No, no," I brushed tears away, "I'm fine."

"That's what everyone says, 'I'm fine,' and never once do they mean it."

I found myself embracing him and sobbing, "It's not from you, it's not your fault, it has nothing to do w-with you... I miss home is all."

His hand came to rest upon my head, but was still.

He said softly, "You miss the vicomte."

"But I'm yours..." I whispered, letting out another sob. "You know I am now, don't be upset with me when I'm homesick."

"I'm not upset... but this won't last, will it?"

"Hopefully not..." I sniffled. "Why aren't you upset?"

"I don't believe I could ever be upset after... kissing you."

He gave the word such reverence, a kiss. It was almost as if he worshiped that one action, as if it could complete him. Perhaps it could.

"I hope one day I'll feel the same," I whispered, exhaling into his shirt as I pulled away. "Let me go fetch some handkerchiefs, then we can leave."

I went upstairs, and in the corner of my eye I could still see Erik brushing his hand against his lips.

* * *

 **ERIK**

How ridiculous kisses were. How disgusting and strange. Mingling one's mouth with another, what a ludicrous concept!

That was what I had forced myself to believe, but now was entirely different. The very idea should have repulsed me, but I... I savored the way she tasted upon my lips.

To say it made it seem even more strange. The truth is always far more exotic than a lie.

But she had cried because I had not been the first to kiss her. The very thought was miserable for me. I wanted to be her first for some action. One came to mind, but that would not occur for some time, if ever, and... I feared I would not be the first then, either.

I was the first to marry her, though. The only one, with hope.

I heard her soft little footsteps coming downstairs. Her feet had such a wonderful sound to them. They had a slight spring in them, as well as being quiet, and often, after hearing them, she would appear with a smile, real or false, so I was always expectant at the sound of her.

She did smile this time as well, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief that I took to keep for her. Though I didn't hope she would have need of it, the thought of her asking for the little square of white, and being able to oblige her, was quite lovely.

As I finished hitching up the cart, Christine pulled herself up onto the bench without my assistance, independent as she was, and my eyes took that very moment to wander. The wind and her actions pulled her skirts up to reveal her entire calves, which were pure white from her silk stockings.

I was equally thankful and disgruntled when she pushed them back down and placed herself upon the bench, oblivious. My mind, my tortuous mind, had burned the image into itself, and repeated it for me.

How strange I had seen her in far less onstage, even beside me, and yet this small show of her legs had caused me such confusion! Should I forget the sight, or replay it behind my eyes? Was I wrong to have seen any part of what lay beneath her dress?

I sat down beside my wife- my wife, _Christine-_ and she smiled at me, thankfully unknowing of the argument in my head.

"You're so kind to take me," she said.

Would she kiss me again? Perhaps she saw the worthless hope in my eyes, because she placed one upon my cheek before returning to staring ahead.

"You can kiss me more often, you know," she whispered. "I don't mind it, so long as we are happy at the time of it, if you know what I'm saying."

I nodded, "You only don't mind it?"

Was my own desire to torment myself as well?!

"Oh, no," she replied, in her soft, kind voice. "I didn't mean to say it like that. Kissing you is nice."

Nice... It was better than disgusting, better than tolerable, but... No, no, that was wonderful, I should be content.

"I'm having a dress made for you," I informed her as we started down the dirt road.

"Oh, thank you... An evening gown?"

"Yes."

"What color?"

"Blue. A rich, dark blue."

An emotion akin to sorrow flashed in her eyes, "Thank you... When will it be complete?"

"Another day or two, I believe."

"Is it for special occasions, the dress?"

"Whenever you want to wear it. What special occasions do you have in mind?"

"Holidays, birthdays... anniversaries," she added quietly.

Anniversaries... Yes, of course we would have anniversaries! Unless one of us died, we had many to look forward to... Anniversaries... Year after year of Christine and only Christine...

"Are you alright?" She asked.

I blinked, "Fine."

And I didn't mean fine that time either. I meant beyond words in my happiness. Yes, I was happy! Euphoric! I wanted to take Christine in my arms and twirl her as the boy had, only I wanted to do it until she was laughing airily in dizziness and we both tumbled upon the grass in sheer bliss at each other's company.

So this was love...

We were silent most of the journey, but it was a pleasant silence, and a welcome one. When we arrived in town, I knew Christine found it odd entering shops with me, as I was a bizarre sight in my black mask. She purchased her "woman napkins," which I now understood. I had quite forgotten that occurred to women, and the fact that next week she would have to cope with it was rather daunting for me. Wouldn't she be angry all the time? Hurting? Crying and upset? I knew barely anything of women but I hoped these were exaggerations.

We went to check on the evening gown, and they said it would be complete by the next day. Then I remembered Christine's request for pants for riding, and I bought a size for a boy that I assumed would fit, as well as a chemise and such. It would be rather strange to see her in those...

After buying a few groceries, we headed back home. It surprised me how quiet Christine had been, and was now. I had expected her to be more... childish in behavior, perhaps?

"I'm sorry you have to do that every day," she told me softly as I adjusted the reins in my hands.

"Not every day."

"It must be hard. I'm glad I came, though, I think I should come always now."

"Why?"

"People accept you more when you're with me. I can explain your mask better than you, and I give you normalcy. With a wife, you're more like a- forgive me- a normal man."

"You can come along now, if you want, when I go into town."

"Thank you... It was nice to be with other people. I don't want to forget the world around me because I live inside a secluded house."

"Why not forget the world?"

"Yes, why not..." she said, pensive and melancholy. "Could we make dinner together tonight?"

"Together? That's on odd request."

"Why is it odd? You just said we ought to forget the world, why should it be odd? Why can't it be normal for us?"

I couldn't help but gently smile, "I suppose it could be..."

"We should have a routine," she declared out of the blue.

"A routine? Why?"

"Well, so we can know what to do each day... Do you not like routines?"

"No, I do."

"Good. I think it will make it easier, we won't be as flustered."

"Flustered?"

"Upset with each other."

"You think a schedule would help?"

"Maybe... I'm willing to try a good many things to keep us content in each other's company."

"We aren't content?"

"I don't know.." she sighed. "It's rather confusing to think of, but if we try to stop arguing like we have been, surely it will sort itself out."

"We've only been married three days."

"It seems like so much longer... Well, we'll write it down when we get home."

"You write while I make dinner."

"I... Alright, that's fine for tonight."

"I'm glad you trust me enough now," I told her bitterly.

"Please, not now..." she whispered.

I felt a strange sensation I had been devoid of until I met her. It gathered in my stomach and squeezed my insides with a relentless hold until I wanted nothing more than to fall at Christine's feet and beg forgiveness. But I wasn't brave enough for such a thing most of the time.

I had exhausted her in three days enough that she could only whisper, "Stop."

The rest of the journey was in silence, and when we returned home we went to our separate tasks. Christine insisted upon setting the table, however, and gently reminded me to pull out her chair for her. She said grace rather swiftly, perhaps for my benefit, though she ought to know I couldn't care less.

When we had finished, I brought out a few chocolates for her to have. But she glanced over at me in confusion as I resumed my place at the table across from her.

"Won't you have any?" She inquired.

"They're yours."

"I can share, can't I?"

She reached her pale hand, which was becoming ornamented with freckles, out to me. I took the chocolate and stared for a moment.

"What's wrong?" She inquired.

"I don't know," I replied, as I truly didn't.

"Haven't you had chocolates before?"

"Of course, but not..." from someone, even if I had bought them. "Never mind."

After we finished this, she showed me the routine, which I chuckled at.

" _Morning kiss_

 _Breakfast, 10am, Erik_

 _Music, other activity_

 _Lunch, 1pm, Christine_

 _Music, other activity_

 _Dinner, 7pm, both_

 _Goodnight kiss_ "

"Is it acceptable?" She asked.

"I expected an actual routine."

"This is one. I know it's silly, but how else was I supposed to write it...? What don't you like?"

"I..." I glanced at the promise of two kisses per day, if not four because we would each in turn give them. "Nothing, it's lovely."

"There's a lot of space to add things in if necessary... Where should I put it?"

"In your desk, perhaps." Then I added sarcastically, "We can refer to it if necessary."

She laughed, and the sound surprised me enough that I took a step back. Her face red as a cherry when she ceased.

"I don't know why that was so funny," she said, smiling. This flickered and faded away, as it seemed to do often with her. "I wish..."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said hastily. "Nothing at all... Shall we play music?"

I gestured to the piano in agreement.


	11. Chapter 11: To Fear is to Love

**This is my favorite chapter so far. I've always wanted to write one of Erik's nightmares, and it really shows his fears about Christine and himself. And the fluffy part in the middle, it's a real treat, guys, I love it so much! Definitely my favorite scene yet.**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **ERIK**

" _Christine?" I called._

 _I stumbled down the stairs, oddly disorientated, as if drunk or drugged. I dragged myself around the house, my hands upon the walls for support, and called her name again._

 _Silence. A rooster crowed in the distance._

 _I suddenly realized the front door was open, and a letter was pinned to it. The words of this changed from words of love to sorrow to hatred, until I ran out into the night air in disarray. There was a heavy fog over the wood, concealing her from me. A shadow passed along the tree trunks._

 _"Christine!" I cried, my voice a shattered whimper._

 _I heard a sob, a familiar sob that made my insides writhe. The branches of trees cut into me as I ran, and I realized my mask was missing._

 _"Christine!" I pleaded. "Christine!"_

 _"Raoul!" Was the cry I received in return. "Raoul, help!"_

 _I pushed aside my fury at this. Why did she not call for me?_

 _An abyss appeared before me, and I fell into it, stumbling about in the darkness. Christine's cries became louder, more panicked. They were shrill screams now for her beloved._

 _I ran without tiring, seeking her voice. I called for her, told her I was coming, but she did not seem able to hear me._

 _A light pierced the darkness, a flickering candelabra, revealing a room that I could never escape, a room of mirrors and death. Christine was inside this, and I could see perfectly inside this contraption as I could through her dressing room mirror. She was in a dress the color of red wine, her head buried in the dark skirts, with her brown curls the only recognizable part of her._

 _"Who is there?" Came her feeble voice._

 _"Erik," I replied, my breath catching in my throat from horror._

 _"Erik?" She asked, lifting up her head to reveal two blue eyes swallowed by gray pits. "Who are you?"_

 _I was still a moment, bewildered by her question and ghastly appearance, "Your angel of music."_

 _She cried out in terror, drawing away from my voice to the opposite side of the torture chamber, beside the iron tree._

 _"Please, don't turn on the light again!" She begged._

 _"The light? No, no, I would never-" My eyes widened in fury. "Who turned it on before? Who hurt you?!"_

 _"You, you shut me in here!"_

 _My mouth gaped, "No, n-no, I didn't, I couldn't-"_

 _"You deny it?" She whimpered, nestling her head in her red skirts and rocking. "There are so many terrible things when the light turns on..."_

 _"I won't, I'll get you out, I promise-"_

 _"No, no, don't, please!" She pleaded, wringing her hands._

 _"Why not?"_

 _She was simply weeping now, and I realized with horror that her dress was white at the edges, and dyed red with blood. She was crying blood!_

 _The noose was rather close to her, far too much for comfort, beckoning her to the iron branch it hung upon. I tried to open the door of the torture chamber and found it did not respond to my hands. I began to beat against the hard surface as Christine curled herself up, trembling with terror._

 _"Christine, there's a button on the inside," I pleaded. "You must find it! I'm going to knock by the door, and you run your hands along the wall, and you'll find a small point that can open the door."_

 _She shook her head, "I would rather be in here than with you."_

 _"And why is that?!" I cried in disarray, glancing around for something to shatter the glass. But the room was empty save the torture chamber._

 _"You would-" she cried out suddenly at a blinding light within the room, and I felt heat begin to coat the walls._

 _"No, no, no, please come out!" I begged. "You must come out, you'll die!"_

 _"I would rather be dead," she whispered._

 _I beat against the door anew, the tortures unfolding before me. Christine's pale features became coated in sweat, but she undid none of her dress, and her expression remained slack._

 _"I'm so thirsty..." she moaned._

 _"I have water," I lied hastily. "And it's cold out here-"_

 _"But when you're done with me you'll lock me back away!" She sobbed, her voice feeble._

 _"Done with you? Done with what, when have I ever hurt you? I would never, please, I would never!"_

 _"Please, be quiet and let me die..."_

 _I slammed my fists against the door again, and this time it shattered, falling to pieces at my feet. Christine was instantly renewed of strength and darted away from me before I could get a hold on her waist damp with sweat._

 _"You'll get lost!" I cried as she faded into the darkness. "Come back! Please!"_

 _I heard her pants of breath from exertion, the rustle of her skirts, and followed these sounds. Then they suddenly ceased after a muffled cry from her._

 _"Christine?!" I practically screamed._

 _But it wasn't silence that I heard then as I continued down the dark passageway. It was whimpers. Her whimpers, and... and..._

 _I was filled with such fury and horror that I immediately found where whoever it was had hidden her, where he was abusing her, inside a hidden room beneath the surface of the earth. My poor little Christine was fighting with all her exhausted strength against him as he bent over where she rested on a chaise longue, her blood-soaked skirts pushed just over her white-stockinged calves._

 _In my shock and fury, the most intense I had ever felt, like a great raging fire inside me, I pushed the man to the ground, grinding his face into the rough stone surface. Then I turned him over so I could kill him more easily, and, to my horror, found him to be wearing my own hideous visage. I was staring into my own eyes._

I panted in the cold night air as I woke, covered in sweat as I was accustomed to. My eyes tensed and filled with tears, because my head could perfectly replay all Christine's cries and whimpers. I had seen her fears, I had lived them. I was her fear.

For a while, I sobbed. I only cried after nightmares about her, the others I was accustomed to, but the ones of her were quite new in comparison. Never before, however, had I dreamt of harming her. I had frightened her before in them, yes, and often, but this... and harming her like _that_...

I stumbled out into the hallway, still perhaps half-asleep, desperately needing to be sure Christine was safe. Without knocking, I gently pushed open her door, too concerned to realize how terrified she might be to see me there.

She sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp, pulling the bedsheets up to her chin. I realized I had not replaced my mask and my hand shot up to keep the horror of my face hidden.

"What's...?" She asked, staring at me and taking in my state. "Is there a fire?"

"No fire, no, nothing at all, go back to sleep," I replied, exhaling in relief and beginning to leave.

There was a rustle of bedsheets as she slid out of bed and came over to me. The puppy who had been asleep on her pillow yawned and stretched.

"Why don't we play music for a little while?" She offered, with caution. "I can stay up a bit."

The temptation of this was irresistible, and yet I denied her. She could tell how upset I was, I expected, and that was why she obeyed so swiftly in returning to bed. She was afraid of me still, she had to be, why should she not?"

"Goodnight," she whispered.

I shut the door behind myself as I left, and I remained awake until the morning, when Christine shuffled downstairs with concern written in her beautiful features.

"What happened last night?" She asked, her voice soft and pitying.

"What happens every night," I retorted. "It's no concern of yours, let me make breakfast now-"

"No, Erik, please. You looked terrified. I've never seen you like that before, it... it frightened me."

"I had a nightmare, that was all, a simple occurrence-"

"That was not simple... Please, surely I can help?"

"Yes, I assume you are ready to climb beside me in bed, how _concerned_ you are."

She folded her lips, "Please don't be sarcastic when I'm trying to help-"

"I told you not to worry!"

She blanched, her eyes welling up, "Are we going to begin the day like this, then? A day as beautiful as this one?"

"Why don't you leave the matter alone, then?..." I sighed, regretting my harsh words with venom. "I'm going to teach you how to ride a horse today, if you want."

She sighed, "Yes, I do... I'll let you keep your secrets this once."

I bit back a remark. The idea of her "letting" me do anything caused a wave of uncontrollable indignity within me. As I made breakfast for us both I realized I was correct not to be upset with her, as before we had discussed not having secrets in marriage. But I had so many, what was one more?

We ate breakfast in silence, but she brightened back up again by the time she was adjusting her riding outfit, which was beige and cream-colored. It took her only half an hour of sewing to make it suit her, and I was quite proud I had so easily picked her measurements.

"How do I look?" She inquired as she came downstairs in it.

My mouth was dry. She should not have been wearing that, it clung to her far too well. Even if I had seen her like that before, it did not matter. I knew I should not be seeing her like that. I could feel how wrong it was, and yet I was fighting to pull my eyes away from her.

"I've worn pants before," she reminded me at my silence.

"I know..." I said, hoping my voice did not betray me. "It's fine, come outside."

"Are you certain you're not too tired to teach me? I don't want to upset you-"

"I'm fine. I've dealt with this many times before, alone, and survived. I don't need to be coddled like a child because a dream frightens me in the night. I'm fine."

Her lips parted in argument, but she sighed, "Alright, you're fine. I won't ask again."

We both went outside. I had already tended to the chickens as I did every morning now, something she had omitted from our schedule and I ought to add. Horses I had never viewed as pets or anything more than necessities for travel. I had already forgotten its name.

"Good morning, Hazel," Christine said in her cheerful way, extending her hand to the mare's chestnut-colored nose. "Could I give her a treat?"

"After. I'm going to hold the reins to keep her from running off. As you've seen, our fence is less than satisfactory for containment, if you can even call it a fence."

"We ought to fix it up. It's not right for her to be cooped up in here."

"I take her on rides, she pulls the cart, she's perfectly fine."

"That's no life-"

"Could you just listen?"

She turned to me, her eyes pained, "Erik, I don't think we should do this today. You're evidently distressed... Do you need anything? I'm your wife, I'm supposed to help you."

She was right... But I didn't know how to _let_ someone help me, as no one had been there before to do so. And if they had been there, they would have mocked me.

She took a step closer, and said softly as she extended her hand to my arm, "What do you need? A kiss, a chocolate, some singing, what?"

I kept my eyes on hers, unable to answer. Her hand, her soft little hand, was running so pleasantly up and down a small spot on my arm, warming it. I had a sudden urge to wrap my arms around her and bring her close to my chest, but I refused to obey it for fear of frightening her off.

She gently wrapped her arms about me. Could she read my mind?! Could women do that? Did that come with all motherhood and such, an advanced ability to read emotions? It always seemed to me they were far better at it than men...

I could not resist any longer. I pressed her against my chest, and she exhaled in surprise, but did not pull away. She actually rested her head there! I could feel her curls beneath my chin, tormenting me to touch them, test the weight of one in the palm of my hand. How soft they were! Their perfumed fragrance was suffocating me. And how warm she was against me, wrapped up in my arms, relaxed and so incredibly soft.

I never wanted to move again.

I was suddenly aware that I was crying. Christine, thankfully, seemed not to notice, and she continued keeping her head against my chest, her ear resonating with my thundering heartbeat. Her eyes had shut.

* * *

 **CHRISTINE**

It was so nice to be held like this again, with such necessity the two feel they would die once separated. Erik needed me far more than Raoul had, and this action was not comfort as Raoul had done, but sheer desperation and need. Erik needed this, and moreover, _I_ needed this.

It seemed like hours and hours until we separated, like the sun had gone down and risen during that moment. The new trust was palpable. The feelings in my heart were warm and wonderful.

I could see the fear in Erik's eyes when our arms fell away, and I wondered if he could see mine. His eyes were dripping at the edges, and I brushed the tears away with my very own fingers, not fully comprehending myself or thinking.

This action made something snap within him, and he went swiftly back into the house without a word. He would need time for this to seem normal.

I glanced down at my feet and sighed. Tomorrow we would try again. This marriage I already knew would be built on perseverance and need, and hopefully love from both sides.

As I went to my room to change, I was crushed with the realization that I had just been enveloped in the arms of a murderer. It was difficult to forget such a fact, to remember that he had thrown two lives away as if they were nothing. Both had affected people deeply, and he had not understood that. He had not understood the value of life, because he did not seem to know the value of his own.

It made me sick to think of, but I knew he would never again. I would show him how wonderful life could be, how valuable. I would show him love and beauty and everything the cruel world had taken away after having a single look at the poor man. Beauty was not for him, certainly not love, they had all thought.

I certainly wasn't one for what people thought.

"Erik?" I called gently, brushing out my green skirts. "Are you alright?"

To my surprise, the door opened. He looked quite well, with light in his eyes and his appearance impeccable as he always seemed to strive for.

"I'm fine," he told me. "Why did you change?"

"I thought it might be best if we saved the horse-riding class for tomorrow," I explained, with caution. "We can just spend the day with each other, maybe have another picnic?"

His lopsided mouth turned up at the thinner corner, "If you want."

I beamed, "I'm going to finish your scarf now. It's nearly complete, but I wanted it to be nice and long. I always make them too short."

I turned away, but then turned back and kissed his cheek.

"I think we forgot this morning about those," I told him. "I'm sorry for not reminding you... Well? Do I not receive one?" I asked playfully.

He cupped my face in his hands and pressed his lips to my forehead. It was my favorite way to be kissed, actually. It was a kiss of adoration, not desire or obligation, and Erik seemed to know this as well, the way his hands so delicately supported me. How quickly he was learning!

"I love you," he whispered after it, releasing me swiftly in his nervousness.

I couldn't remember having heard him say it the day prior. Surely he had?

"I love you, too," I replied. "Now let me finish that scarf and we can play music for a while."

His eyes reflected his mind's incapability to understand this. Happiness, love, they were incomprehensible.

I was rather pleased with myself. I would make him comprehend. I would show him love. I would give him everything as he wanted to give me, and I knew he would, once he understood his own heart.

It was an exciting concept to say the least.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **In case the chapter title needs explaining: love is being vulnerable, and fearful, and especially fearful for another**

 **Also, total is 4 days married now**


	12. Chapter 12: Cotton and Silk

**ERIK**

She was so _small_. I had thought it nice that she was small before, in an affectionate sort of way, that I could protect and adore her, but... she was _so small_. She was helpless. Utterly helpless save her voice, her golden voice that gave her more power than she knew.

I could do such terrible things to her. I had always been one for morbidity, but this... I couldn't stomach the fact that I could do absolutely anything to her that I pleased. All she had to protect herself from me were her voice and my love for her, two attributes she was not fully convinced upon.

No wonder she feared me regardless of my mask. No wonder she had pushed away that glass of wine... and then me...

What had made her come here when she feared me so? I didn't believe her explanations just yet, as all were slightly different, and few said with conviction.

I wish she could love me, though. But she viewed love as a thing, it seemed, something to be given and received, but no more. I wanted to express to her how I loved her, but descriptions slipped through my mind until I simply stared into the fireplace. The tinkling of needles rung in my ears.

She was so quick in her work. My scarf was already far longer than need be.

"Finished," she said brightly, turning to me.

She had insisted we sit together while she worked.

"Do you like it?" She asked, offering it in her outstretched palms, a white mass of yarn.

I took it, "It's lovely."

"Oh, don't give me false praise. But at least it gives me room to improve for next time."

"Next time?"

"Well, if your first gift was something incredible, how would I be able to do better next time?" She smiled. "Well? Won't you try it on? Here, I'll put it on you, if you want."

I drew away from her, rising, "I think I'll take it upstairs, actually."

"Is something wrong?"

I hesitated too long, "No."

"Won't you tell me why?" She asked gently. "Please? I don't know a thing about you, just tell me why, that's all I want."

I conceded under her gaze, "I... I prefer not to be constricted."

Her lips parted. I felt suddenly vulnerable.

"I'm glad I know," she replied. "Thank you for telling me... Why did you ask for one, though?"

"I'll wear it like this," I told her, draping it around the back of my neck, half-heartedly attempting humor.

She gave a start, but shook her head to rid herself of it and smiled again.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothi-" but she stopped. "You just look like someone with it like that... Oh, goodness, everything is always ruined with us both, isn't it? We try something and it fails miserably-"

"Not music."

"Then let's play music!" She said emphatically. "Let's play music all the time, then we don't have to worry about mistakes and silly arguments."

She strode over to the piano, clasping her hands in her lap. Then she gestured to the bench.

"Aren't you going to join me?"

I found myself smiling, a feeling I was almost entirely unused to, as I went to her side.

* * *

 **CHRISTINE**

Later that day, he went off to fetch my dress, which was supposed to be finished now. I occupied myself with a book and my puppy, who was having difficulty not staining the floors. I let him out often on his leash, but it made no difference. Perhaps it didn't help that I had never owned a dog before.

There was another thing Erik and I had in common: impulsive decisions. How many was that now? Impulsiveness, being an outcast, music... Oh, we would find more. I was excited to find more about him, and I was finding more of myself along the way.

When Erik returned, he found me mopping up an amber puddle. I could tell by the glow of his eyes that this sight upset him, of me cleaning, but I finished quickly, intrigued with what he had purchased for me.

Please don't be too gaudy... please don't be too gaudy...

He had me sit down on the sofa, and placed a white box in my arms. He sat himself across from me in his armchair.

I patted the spot beside me, "Why are you so far away?"

He obeyed with eagerness that betrayed his masked emotions. I removed the top of the box and pushed aside the tissue paper.

"Oh..." I whispered, drawing it out.

"You don't like it?" He asked.

I smiled, "It's lovely... It's absolutely lovely... Thank you."

Raoul would have bought me dresses like this. I didn't _want_ dresses like this. Not now...

"Do you want to... try it on?" Erik offered.

I nodded, pushing away my thoughts, "I'll be as quick as I can, hopefully it's not too tedious."

I kissed his cheek, then went up to my room. My face fell. I simply didn't like costly possessions. They felt wrong, and there didn't seem to be a sense in them. There was one this time, at least, since it would mean quite a lot to Erik for me to be delighted by an expensive gift from him, but still...

I stared into my mirror, biting my lip. The bodice wasn't scandalous, but it was lower than I would have chosen for myself. It was lovely, though, fit for a doll.

No, no, I wasn't a doll. He was understanding that fully now. After all, he had confided in me earlier.

I went downstairs in the dress, a little shyly, with my hands in the deep blue skirts. The glass buttons caught the light as I turned to him.

"You don't look right," he informed me.

"What do you mean?"

"You're tense."

How could he tell?

"I'm just... having a lot of feelings right now is all. I really do love it, thank you so much for such a wonderful gift. Mine pales in comparison."

"Why do you prefer the plain dresses?" He asked.

"I'm used to them."

"But you wore nice ones for the opera house."

"That was for people to see. I feel more comfortable in simplicity. After all, I'm just a poor girl from Sweden inside, and I'll never be any different..." I spun around for his benefit, "Do I look beautiful, though?"

"Like a dream."

"A dream that's real."

His eyes were soft, and I could tell he was resisting staring too intently or letting his eyes wander. _Men_.

"Erik, you can look at me. Be sure it fits," I teased, my cheeks burning a bit at my daring.

"How are you mine?" He asked.

I sat myself beside him, smiling gently and taking one of his hands in mine, "Because you are mine, aren't you? My angel?"

There was a curious light that passed behind his eyes. Had he ever belonged anywhere? Had he ever been someone's?

"Thank you, again," I said, "for confiding in me earlier-"

"May I kiss you? Properly?"

His question was so sudden, so desperate, that we both stared at each other in fear, one of being denied, and one of acquiescing.

I found I wanted to, so I did. I closed my eyes and let my lips find his, then guided his trembling hand to my waist. The poor man still trembled...

Kisses with Raoul had always been playful. At least, I had preferred those ones, when I teased him and he missed purposefully to peck my cheek or forehead. But I realized I couldn't do that with Erik. To him, kisses were these deep, meaningful moments of love, not playful little meetings. Of course Raoul and I had had deep moments too, but... There was something different about kissing Erik, besides the obvious. Something I couldn't describe...

I began to think I preferred Erik's kisses to Raoul's.

We broke apart, and I found Erik all wide-eyed with wonder. Without exactly thinking about it, I indulged him again, finding the sensation exhilarating. I filled with light and warmth until Erik pulled away from me, and I emitted a tiny whimper of confusion as he shut himself away in his room.

I shouldn't have done that. It was too soon to be taking two kisses at once.

Goodness, my heart was beating hard enough to bruise!

* * *

 **ERIK (again, sorry)**

Had she wanted to kiss me? She had taken another! I hadn't been prepared for such a miracle.

I pinched my wrist to be sure this was reality. Yes, it was. She had kissed me twice again, without needing to, without a plea from me. She had simply done so!

Was she mad? Did she truly love me, at least a little?

Oh, how was I supposed to go back down to her now, though? How was I such a coward? Perhaps she had enjoyed the kiss, if she had insisted upon the second... Had she, though? Had she enjoyed kissing me? Surely that was impossible...

"Erik?" The angel called gently from behind my door. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I replied from the safety of my room.

"I should've warned you, I suppose... I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, that's ridiculous... Why, though?"

"Come out of there, please, come back downstairs and I'll try my best to explain myself-"

I opened the door swiftly enough to send a breeze through her curls, "Did you want to kiss me?"

She blinked twice, "I..."

"Tell me, did you?"

"I... I did. I wanted to."

"Then you love me-?"

"No," she told me, her face falling. "No, not like that. Not yet."

"Perhaps you are the one who doesn't understand love and not me!" I told her without thinking.

Her lips parted, her eyes widening in hurt, "Love is putting someone before oneself. It is not a blind feeling, though. I admit, I have a blind feeling for you, but that is not love, because you have yet to put me before all else. You've done a wonderful job so far, Erik, you really have, you're being a wonderful husband, considering my expectations, among other things... You removed the lock on the door, you've apologized often, you confided in me earlier, you... You've made me love you again. I don't fear you now... But I can't say I love you until we've been married longer than a mere four days. I need to know you before I can love you, and I still know nothing about you."

Her eyes lit with an idea.

"Could we make a deal?" She asked.

"What sort of deal?"

"Well, I want, every day, for you to tell me a little about your past, just a little, and then I'll tell you anything you want to know about me. But they must be equal in value."

I hesitated, but replied, "I understand."

"And?" She beamed.

"I agree to your terms."

She wrapped her arms about my waist without warning, but departed before I could hold her.

"I can't love a man I don't know," she told me. "Well, what should we do now? I have on my new dress, we ought to do something special, don't you think?"

"Like what, my dear?"

"I haven't the slightest... Could you take me into town, perhaps?"

"But I just went there."

"Why not go again? Does Hazel mind?"

Who was Hazel-?

"The mare?" I said. "I don't think so."

"And you should buy wood for the fence."

"Fence?"

"I thought you said you would repair it?"

"If you want, I suppose I can."

"And... well, I was thinking... I don't know how to ride yet, but do you think it might be nice if I had my own horse, and we could ride together?"

Where did she come up with these wonderful ideas?

"If you want," I replied.

She smiled gently, "Yes, I think that would be nice... So, will we go into town, then?"

"Of course."


	13. Chapter 13: Confusion and Chaos

**Getting to a month of marriage now, yay!**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **CHRISTINE**

We _finally_ fell into an actual routine over the following week. Erik begrudgingly allowed me to take care of some household duties, like a normal wife.

I learned how to ride a horse, which was exhilarating, and very beneficial to the both of us. He bought me my own horse and we went on rides together near the lake.

It was rather romantic sounding.

We had picnics near the lake often, and I told stories about Sweden and the opera house that I was sure he had heard hundreds of times before, but he listened regardless. He preferred listening to me talk rather than having a conversation.

"Could you buy me seeds for a garden?" I asked one lovely afternoon as we sat on the grass. "We could have a little farm."

"We can't make a profit off of the land I purchased, my dear, but if you want to grow plants for us to eat, that's fine. What would you like?"

"Tomatoes, potatoes, carrots... lettuce, I think, too. And herbs."

"We have that nice spot just beside the house. Do you know anything about gardening?"

"Not that much. Do you?"

"Not at all."

"Well, if we have enough diversity in them, one is bound to grow."

He chuckled, "I suppose..."

"I learned a little when I was a girl, but not much I can remember."

"I'm sure there's a book on gardening I could purchase, as well, if you're so inclined."

"Yes, please. I know the basics, turning up the ground and such, getting out weeds and general preparation."

"We should plant flowers, too, in the front of the house, for spring. Some lilies, perhaps? Rosebushes?"

"Aren't rosebushes difficult to care for?"

"I don't know, but you just suggested a trial and error method for the garden, doesn't that apply here also?"

I smiled, "It does."

And so he indulged me in creating a little farm of sorts. There was something wonderful about having life about us, horses and chickens, and life within the ground, waiting to sprout. I had always thought this simple life would suit me well.

"Could we have a cow, too?" I asked.

"A _cow_?" He replied as he exited the chicken coop. "What would we need a cow for?"

"Milk."

He sighed, "Let's keep only this much for now. If we keep buying animals on a whim then we might regret the decision later on."

"I suppose you're right."

"You suppose?"

"I still want a cow," I teased.

"Maybe in the summer, if you still insist."

I kissed his cheek, "You can't say no to me, can you?"

He stared down at me, "No, I can't. Perhaps that's not a good thing."

"Mmhm."

Being distracted by tending to a garden and animals was good for us. It kept us in close proximity without having to necessarily speak to each other, which seemed the root of our problems. We needed to learn how to speak to each other with better forethought and understanding. I felt I was as much at fault as he was for that. We were doing far better of late, however, almost night-and-day difference.

Erik revealed to me tiny pieces of his past every day at my bidding. I was left to put them together like some dreadful puzzle, and sometimes I lay awake at night and wondered how a mother could hate her child just for being born different, enough to send him away at ten years old after his two older brothers, who had been cruel to him under their mother's watch, had died.

I was so distraught one night by it that I couldn't sleep. After tossing and turning for quite some time, and even reading a book by candlelight to help distract my mind, I crept out into the hallway and heard Erik's whimpering that often occurred in the dead of night.

I pushed open his door, "Erik, dear?"

His forehead was covered in drops of sweat, trembling as he did. He whimpered something that I thought sounded awfully similar to 'mother.' I nudged his shoulder.

He sat bolt upright in bed, and I jumped away in sudden fright that he might unknowingly do me harm. But he only breathed heavily in the night air.

"W-why are you in here?" He asked, hastily concealing his deformity with his hand. "Go back to bed."

"I won't have you being tortured in your sleep every night," I told him, slightly unsure of myself.

"I can wrestle with my own demons," he retorted coldly. Then he sighed, "Go back to bed, my dear, don't trouble yourself with me-"

"I _will_ trouble myself with you," I replied firmly. "What sort of wife am I not to comfort my husband when he needs it?"

"Please go back to bed..."

He was almost begging. My lips grew taut, and I found my way to the side of his bed. Was I honestly considering this? Three weeks ago, I would never have even contemplated such a thing.

"Christine?" He whispered in confusion.

I pushed aside the bedsheets and slid beneath them. He inhaled sharply.

"Are you all right?" He asked. "Have you gone mad?"

My eyes welled up, "I can't stop thinking about what you told me-"

"I shouldn't have told you anything-"

"No, no, I need to know. About you... I just don't understand how a person could be so _cruel_."

"Haven't you seen my face? Is it any wonder why?"

"Your face doesn't deserve cruelty."

"But my actions do, isn't that what you said once?"

"No one deserves cruelty."

We were both silent for a moment.

Erik cleared his throat, "Are you going to go back to bed?"

"This is my bed now," I whispered, folding my hands in my lap. "It's time I accepted that and stopped playing at marriage like it's a game, when it hurts you. I know it hurts you that I don't act like a wife, when I _am_ your wife. Under God I'm your wife and you're my husband. I said I would be your companion but that... that wasn't right. That was misguided."

"You trust me to share a bed with you?..." His eyes widened. "Are you in earnest, you trust me?"

I began to cry, "I'm so cruel to you-"

"Cruel to me? My love, don't cry, why do you cry? When have you ever been cruel to me-?"

"I married you and refused to take part in... a-any part of a real marriage."

"That was justified, my dear, as much as it pains me to admit. Marrying me was an act of madness on your part."

"I know..." I agreed pitifully. "I feel like I'm... a-always so confused, and I don't like that feeling. I want to know what I want, what I have to do, what's the right thing to do, I... I want to be sure of myself. I haven't felt sure of myself in some time now..."

He shifted towards me, which surprised me greatly. But I didn't feel afraid.

"You seem sure of yourself," he told me. "You act like you are, when we... kiss, when you talk about what you want in our 'little farm.'"

I gave a small smile, "I love having a farm, albeit a little one."

"It reminds you of Sweden, I expect," he teased cautiously.

I laughed wetly, rubbing away my tears, "Yes, very much..."

A warm silence followed this.

"Eventually, Erik," I said, "in a year or two, where do you see us?"

"I don't quite understand the question."

"Are you all right with living here? The farm was my idea, you only went along with it."

"Of course I'm all right with living here. You're here, and you're happy here... Aren't you?"

"I think so, yes. But I also meant, well..." I fidgeted with the bedsheets about my fingertips, "Do you have any interest in children?"

"None," he replied immediately. "Never... And why would you even bring up that when we haven't even consummated the marriage? Nor do I believe we will ever."

"Of course we will... eventually, I think, once we trust each other well enough. I just... I'm concerned about... not having children. What if when I get older, and perhaps I change my mind, and I can't have one?"

"I don't understand you. Why would you want a child of mine?"

"You're my husband. I can't have a child with someone else because, well, that's adultery, first of all, second of all, I don't mind having your children."

"Oh, yes, you're just _delighted_ at the idea of little demons running about the house-"

"How dare you," I interrupted sharply. "You should be ashamed of yourself for thinking I would be so shallow-minded. I'm not your mother, and if I have a child of yours that bears your face, I will love them with all my heart, is that understood?"

"But you won't have any of my children. I forbid it."

"I'm the woman, I can decide if I want children or not. It doesn't harm you at all, on the contrary, as I've heard-"

"In a normal family, the husband decides on children."

"And normally he wants them."

"You just said you didn't want any!" He slid off the bed to his feet. "Do you or do you not want children?"

"Not... right now, but... I think I might regret it if I don't."

"You're twenty-one, you have a good nine years until you should be concerned... Unless you come to me one day and tell me you can't live without a child, then you shall never have a child of mine. I'm already damned enough as it is."

He opened the door to go downstairs.

"Erik, wait," I pleaded. "My purpose was to sleep beside you."

He hesitated in the doorway. Then he turned around and returned to bed, unable to resist the temptation of it.

I found myself sliding closer to him until I rested my head upon his chest, his frantic heartbeat loud in my ear.

"Sing me to sleep, won't you?" I whispered to him.

"Of course," he replied quietly.

The next day, I woke alone, with the bed all made up about me. I smiled to myself in a bit of amusement at this, stretching out my arms and yawning. Then I heard the front door open and slam shut, accompanied by a rather loud and angry sigh from Erik.

I went down the stairs, still in my nightgown, "Is something wrong?"

"A wolf killed the chickens," he said.

"A wolf?"

"Wolf, wolves, but they're dead."

"A-all of them?"

"We can buy more, I'll make a better fence-"

"Are the horses safe?"

"The stable protects them."

"But how did wolves reach the chickens?"

"The pen was only made to keep them in, not keep things out... Have you even heard any wolves lately?"

"Only Poco learning to howl..." I glanced around. "Where _is_ Poco?"

"Probably in the kitchen, let me see."

I followed him, a bit anxious. But I knew Poco had to be fine, after all, the doors were always shut in the house.

"I don't know where he is," Erik told me. "Call for him."

"Poco!" I cried, going back upstairs into my bedroom. "Poco! Poco, dear, where are you?"

"He can't speak French, Christine-"

"Be quiet, please, Erik!" I was beginning to panic. "Did you lock the front and back doors last night?"

"Of course. I'm sure he's just hiding somewhere, don't worry."

"Wait, wait, didn't we tie him to the tree so he could run around a bit before being cooped up all night? Didn't... didn't we get him before we went to bed?"

"I... Christine-!"

I darted out the door, and he caught me by my waist, pulling me back inside.

"You need to calm down," he told me. "I'll see if he's alright."

I began to cry, "It's my fault, I was so upset from what you told me last night, and I-I forgot him! How could I?"

"Shh, stay inside. It's not your fault."

He went outside. I wrung my hands in the fabric of my nightgown, sobbing in fright. Losing chickens was one thing, but I loved that puppy.

Erik returned, empty handed.

"The rope is broken," he told me. "I'm sorry, but-"

I wrapped my arms about him and sobbed.

"I can buy you a new dog," he offered, patting my head.

"Don't talk about it," I replied sharply. "Please don't..."

I spent a few days depressed from the death of Poco. Erik bought me chocolates and flowers, as I assume he had read about or seen other people do when their loved ones were upset. He didn't mock me for being silly, or bring up Poco at all. He played music, he read me books, he... he was so sweet. I didn't know what had come over him. Had he figured a bit more out about love?

We sat near the fireplace most nights, especially on chilly days, simply in each other's presence. It was strange how these moments always progressed, from him being far away and me drawing him closer, then we would sit near each other, and then I would rest my head on his shoulder or lap. I knew he preferred the latter, as I often let him play with my hair, but it was a bit more intimate, so I only afforded him it when I was sleepy and trusting.

That night, however, I had decided to finally get rid of his mask. There was no need for it, and it couldn't possibly be comfortable for him. Most importantly, though, it hindered our trust. I was certain of that.

"Erik?" I said softly, sitting down beside him at the piano as he composed. "I need to talk to you about something."

"I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment-"

"Too busy for _me_?"

"Of course not, but let me just... there, it's very easy to forget recently discovered melodies, you see... What did you say?"

"I want to talk to you about something... very important to me."

"We are not having _children_ , Christine-!"

"That's not it, it's... something important for our relationship, I think."

He turned to me, "What is it?"

I bit my lip, "Your mask. I've been patient with you regarding it, but it can't remain between us."

"Me hiding the horror of my face from you is not harming our marriage-"

"But it is!" I replied emphatically. "The times when you've been truly honest with me have only been when it was gone. And I don't need to be protected from any 'horrors,' of which there are none. You shouldn't have to wear it in the safety of this house."

"Believe it or not, my dear, but I prefer wearing my mask," he rose from the bench, and I went to stand in front of him.

"Because it's all you've ever known that would give you acceptance. I'll accept you with or without it. It can't be comfortable-"

"I won't allow you to see my face everyday, Christine, I love you-"

"I love _you_."

He was silent for a moment, "That sounded different. The way you said that this time."

"Maybe it is different. A month can do a lot to a person, that I've seen... I do love you."

"As a husband?"

"I think so."

"Say it with confidence, yes or no?"

"I don't have confidence yet."

"Then permit me my mask."

"You don't have to hide from me-"

"I am not _hiding_!" He cried, and I gave a start, but remained standing before him. "You know _nothing_ of what this mask means! As a child, I had scraps of fabric that blinded me often due to the pitiful slits in them. And then in the gypsy camp I was permitted nothing! I was my face, I was a monster, Christine, nothing more! But then when I ran away, I made myself a mask that would actually improve my appearance. In Persia, I was respected because they couldn't see what lay beneath! In China, Russia, as I traveled, I was almost seen as human because of this scrap of porcelain, do you understand? This is what gives me some humanity, and you wish to take it _away_?"

"Yes," I replied firmly. "I want to break it into a thousand pieces because I see you as a man regardless of it! I'm not those people, I'm not humanity. I'm your wife... If I have to steal it while you sleep, I shall. I _hate_ that thing that people made you wear because they couldn't accept that you were a human being without it! You are a man like any other, and a facial flaw doesn't change that!... Now give it to me before I do something rash."

I extended my hand out, determined. War waged behind his eyes. I pleaded in my mind for him to give in, please let him understand that this is what's best for us...

His fingertips reached up for the edges, finding the wire behind it. Slowly, almost painfully, it revealed the warped flesh beneath. We stared into each other's eyes, and I felt the weight of the porcelain in my hands as it was handed to me.

I dropped it and kissed him, pulling his face down to mine. Oh, I had never kissed him like this before, how exhilarating it was! This was a different kiss entirely, ones Raoul and I had enjoyed in moments of sheer impropriety. Mouths as well as lips, pounding heartbeats, the thrill of it, like nothing else existed save us two...

And then I suddenly realized I had lost control of the kiss. Erik was all too soon so very close, and his hands were wandering up my waist, cautiously, but they ventured higher and higher, then one dipped lower, entwining itself in the skirt of my nightgown-

I pulled away from him, breathing a bit heavily. We stared at each other in shock at what we had just experienced, and I picked up his mask and fled to my room, running my hands through my hair in confusion.

What had just _happened_?

* * *

 **ERIK**

What had just _happened?_ How could I have done that to her? Touched her like that, why couldn't I just have kept still and been content with her waist? She had only ever offered me her waist to hold, and what do I do? Make her think I might-

I didn't want to imagine what she was thinking of me now. I actually went into the cellar so I could reflect and cry in peace.

And after she had just accepted me without my _mask_. What selfish, vile creature was I?

It was at least an hour until I heard her footsteps on the stairs. Her quiet footsteps, and her quavering call. I didn't answer, remaining in the corner, holed up in the dark where I belonged.

But she wasn't a fool. No matter what she thought, she was no fool... Granted, her decision to marry me was foolish, but it seemed to have turned out all right... or perhaps not anymore.

Her knock came at the door to the cellar, "Erik, my love?"

How could she call me that?... Why did she call me that?

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, evidently fighting back tears. "That was my fault, I should've known, I'm so stupid... You didn't do a-anything wrong, nothing at all, you just... love me..."

I couldn't ignore her tears. I went up the small flight of stairs and found the angel crying for blame she shouldn't bear. It was my fault for my pitiful self-control.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"No, no, I-I am, I made you think-"

"You didn't give me permission-"

"You should _have_ permission, though, it's your right-"

"It's not my right-"

"As my husband, it's your right to have what I'm too afraid to give you-"

"Afraid? Why are you afraid to give it, my dear Christine?"

She had a pitiful look in her eyes, and she shifted a bit in her stance that reminded me of a flower in a breeze. She sniffled as she brushed aside a curl from her face.

"Is it because of all that opera house gossip?" I asked. "Because most of that nonsense isn't true-"

"That's not why... that's not... I'm afraid of being... y-yours."

"Mine?"

"I don't want to be trapped. I trust you, but I'm simply afraid of... of giving my trust to you too soon."

"That was only a kiss, my dear, I'm not insisting upon consummating the marriage-"

"But it wasn't a kiss, it was-" she put a hand to her forehead. "It was sinful."

I actually laughed at her. I couldn't restrain myself, did she honestly think that was sinful? We were even married, where was she coming from?

My laughter faded quickly, though, upon seeing her pitiful eyes all welled up with tears.

"What do you mean, sinful?" I said softly. "Passion isn't a sin, especially not within a marriage-"

"But it's not... what I wanted."

"And what did you want?"

"I thought love was all..." she swallowed. "Kisses and gentle caresses, but not... not that. W-with... Raoul, I always thought of love as this beautiful thing in a very innocent sense, the simple love of a dream... Not this... wild emotion, I don't... understand a wild emotion."

"But what frightened you besides just that?"

She bit her lip in hesitation, "I almost didn't... stop it."

"Why are you so upset about this?" I demanded, becoming quickly irritated. "I don't understand, if you didn't want it to stop, isn't that a good thing?"

"But it's not what I thought it should be like, not... uncontrolled like that. I've never kissed someone like you did to me, never that... fast a-and..."

Whatever word came to her mind, she refused to say.

"I think you're tired and should rest," I told her. "In your own bed, I might add."

She nodded in agreement, turning to go upstairs. I sighed, quite distressed by her confusion, and upset that I couldn't celebrate the joy of being wanted by her when she was crying over it.

For being so resilient, she was still fragile at times.


	14. Chapter 14: Epiphany

**Here's where this fic gets a bit tricky for me.**

 **This chapter explains a bit about what happened, as Christine was overwhelmed at the time and now she's dissecting what she felt, right and wrong, why she wishes she had someone to ask besides Erik about it, etc etc**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **CHRISTINE**

I woke up the next day feeling like such a fool for crying like I had. I had practically had the tantrum of a child, all because I was so overwhelmed and confused, and the reasons I had given him were not... entirely true. They had seemed so at the time, but now that I had given more thought to it, I didn't know if they were.

The problem was that I had enjoyed it. Even when he had tried to venture too far, there had been a thrill that sunk its teeth into my heart. I had both wanted to stop and continue, though at the time I had been too frightened by sudden my loss of control to fully dissect my emotions.

And now I couldn't help letting my mind wander a bit further in thought. Anyone is curious about the subject of desire and making love, and I wasn't innocent regarding knowledge of most of what happens between a husband and wife, and often simply a man and a woman. It's impossible not to hear talk of it in the opera house. Why, I was expected to become a mistress myself and know of it by experience. I was practically shunned for not, as if I had insulted them for what they did, when I understood their reasons fully. I did not exactly... approve of it, but I understood.

What _would_ it be like to make love, though? With Raoul, I had thought of it simply as a part of the marriage, in a good way. It had been this 'gift,' this 'secret,' what could create life. It was raised on a sort of pedestal. I saw it only as that, a way to express my love for him in the most profound way possible. That was the viewpoint that a wife _should_ have.

And now I had felt something completely unexpected, the part of me that I had hidden away somewhere. I had unlocked some of it with Raoul, enough that the idea of our eventual wedding night had made me blush and smile secretively to think of.

But this was different. I had started the kiss like Raoul's and mine had been: more passionate while still barely within the realms of propriety. And I had been content to be within the realm of propriety then.

 _That_ was what frightened me, that and so many others. It was the fact that propriety had almost been crossed, and I had felt a thrill in it. I had suddenly wanted to cross it. And even with my fear, I couldn't help but wonder more and more about what other feelings and emotions there were to unlock, if there were any. The idea made my cheeks burn, but I couldn't help but be curious about it.

 _Desire_. It was like I had never seen the color red, but someone had described it to me, so I thought I knew what it was. And then suddenly my eyes had been opened to a new world by actually seeing it for myself, and not a pale version of it, but one deep and rich as wine.

 _Red_. That was the color I had felt, red like hot coals inside me, red like how my cheeks colored as I thought these things.

It had been exhilarating, kissing him like that, feeling what I had been then unable to describe. Oh, that was the word for it, exhilarating! Exhilarating! I couldn't breathe couldn't think about anything save how it felt to be kissed in such a way, held in such a way until the world dissolved around us and there was only this powerful and binding _feeling_...

But it had been too much for me, too soon. The moment I had felt helpless and overwhelmed I had withdrawn out of fear.

Oh, I wished I had someone to ask about this! What should a healthy marriage even look like? And what was the proper way to exercise desire, or not? My parents were gone, so they couldn't tell me about what was normal in a marriage. The most I had ever received from my father was to be chaste, and nothing more because I was too shy to ask more than once. Madame Giry had told me practically the same when I came to her flustered and blushing with my questions, though she had at least added that it was incredibly important to marriage, and the most profound way to show love to another person. Those words had been the most helpful of anything.

But that was when I hadn't fully experienced this feeling before. I had known a little about it, of course, known about passion, felt some of it with Raoul, but that... hadn't been like this. Last night had been far more powerful than what I had ever felt before, and it terrified me that my prior beliefs now might need to be edited.

Erik had never, not once, done anything close to what he had done last night. He never touched me without asking, rarely began any kisses of his own volition, and he always remained quite contained in my presence in that respect.

And so accompanying my new knowledge and curiosity about it, was fear. Not the thrilling type, true fear. I had felt helpless. For a moment, I hadn't felt safe. Erik's reaction that had caused this in me reminded me of a bottle of champagne being shaken up, and fizzing before it was all released. But what more could he let go of? Enough to completely lose control and possibly hurt me without knowing in passion?

He hadn't lost control last night, not really, he had stopped immediately when I was frightened. But he had gone further than he had ever dared before, and that frightened me. His hands had barely wandered at all, simply held my skirt- not pulled them up or anything like that, but he had held them in his hand. And then one had drifted up and stopped just before it went too far.

I trusted him not to violate me, of course, I knew he wouldn't, but... What if I kissed him like that again, and became frightened, but he didn't realize? Yes, he loved me, he wouldn't want to do anything against my wishes, but I had heard of men being blinded by passion... Was Erik any different?

I had been in so many operas with men driven by passion alone, like they couldn't control it. Perhaps opera wasn't the best place to learn about men, as the characters were rarely pure and perfect, but there was always some truth to them. And mistresses had spoken about moments of uncontrollable passion from their men...

Maybe it shouldn't have frightened me as much as it did. Erik had obviously tried to shut away any passion he had for me for my benefit, and had done so without fail. I hadn't noticed any of it at all, really.

But then that raised a whole new concern! Would he always have to restrain himself because of my fear of being helpless again? Was that wrong, too?

I didn't like asking questions in my head that I couldn't answer, and so many at once was driving me mad. My eyes were welling up from the strain of it.

I was upset and confused over so many things about the situation that it was difficult to pinpoint an an exact reason. My thoughts were one enormous flood, and it crashed over me, because I didn't fully understand what I felt or what to do about it or if I had done something wrong and I also missed home on top of it all and I didn't know whether I should've just stayed with Raoul and had a perfectly normal marriage without knowing about this feeling and then left Erik alone and I-I-

"Christine?" Erik called gently through my door."

I rubbed away my tears, "W-what?"

"I'm going to leave for a while, all day if you need me to-"

"No, no," I argued, confused. "I want you h-here..."

"But I could... go into town and buy you something to help you calm down and relieve your fears. Perhaps chocolates or-"

"I'm fine."

"You're weeping, my dear. I can hear you and I won't be able to bear it continuing for much longer, I can barely stand it now."

I choked on a sob, "I feel so stupid..."

"That's not a word you're allowed to use, except perhaps for me, we've discussed this..." He paused for a moment, as if thinking, "I'm sorry for... what happened."

"I'm not upset about what you did, you don't need to apologize, I'm just..." I extended my hands out, wordless, though he couldn't see. "Could you come in here, please?"

He opened the door after a moment's hesitation, peering through the doorway as if unsure of himself, perhaps partly due to his lack of mask. My vision was all blurred with tears.

"I don't think I'm well," I told him. "T-that's why I'm like this, I'm reacting like a naive little child over this..."

He went to my side, though remaining a good distance from the bed and turning so as to give me less view of his face.

"No," he told me, "you're not reacting like a child. But perhaps you are unwell, do you have a headache or... is it your flowers, or whatever you call it? Your time?"

"No... It's too soon for that, in a week or two they should c-come again... Could you sit with me?"

"I would..." he hesitated, "prefer not on your bed, let's go downstairs... Please try to collect yourself, I've never seen you cry like this before and I hope never to see it again."

I nodded and rose, then grabbed a handful of handkerchiefs before shuffling downstairs to the sofa. There he sat with me, and I curled up into him for comfort. But he wouldn't touch me, only secure me gingerly with one arm. No petting my hair, no embracing me, because I had frightened him last night in my stupidity.

"Is this about you thinking you're going to hell?" He asked.

"That's not... w-what I said, what I said last night I didn't really mean, it was all pouring out of me... I couldn't make sense of it all..."

"Then what terrifies you enough to cry like this?" He pleaded, pained in concern. "You told me you're not afraid of me doing anything untoward, I would never hurt you, then what are you afraid of?"

"I-I think... I thought about it," I calmed down a little from his proximity, sniffling as I spoke. "I'm afraid of... a lot of things, but... Did you...? Did you know what you were doing last night, or did you... not?"

He set his jaw, "Then you do think I can't control myself."

"I know you can, but-"

"No, you don't have any proof, don't lie to me."

"I was just... thinking about why I was afraid of anything more, a-and I was afraid that..."

"Speak your mind, don't hesitate."

I tasted a tear that had fallen into the corner of my mouth, "I mostly became frightened last night because... I'm so small, and you could've not heard me, and I wouldn't have been able to do anything. And I felt helpless from what I was feeling first, and then you... You didn't do anything wrong, but I was afraid because I didn't know what was happening or when it would stop, or if it would, and I hadn't at all prepared myself or known what would happen... But it wasn't your fault."

He was silent for a moment. Then he pushed me gently off of him and onto the sofa, but not in anger at me. He put his face in his hands, rubbing his deformity and breathing heavily as he faced away from me. Before I had time to ask him a question, he had gone up to his room and shut the door.

* * *

 **ERIK**

I donned my full mask upon entering my room. I needed to leave her alone for a time, for my sake and hers. Flowers and chocolates wouldn't gain her trust or soothe her tears, nor any comfort I could give her.

She was afraid of me again... afraid of me just like before with that damned glass of wine...

She had given me more than ever before and I had tried to take regardless!

 _Selfish! Wretched! Vile!_

I gasped for air, desperately struggling against the tears that gathered painfully behind my eyes. How I wished I could go back to last night and have kept my hands on her waist where they belonged and not taken control of her lips. Her lips were not mine! None of her was mine, why should any of her be? What did I deserve of her?

Once I had ceased crying, I went back downstairs. I didn't turn to address her, and had barely opened the door when she stopped me.

"Where are you going?" She asked.

"I'm going to buy more chickens and go into town," I replied as emotionlessly as I could manage.

She came closer, "I would like to come-"

"No!"

She backed away, startled. I swallowed and shut the door behind myself.

Now I had lost her trust, fled her company, and shouted at her. What else was I going to ruin? The day was still young...

I went to saddle Hazel. I hadn't even had breakfast, and I was supposed to make it for Christine and me, yet another thing I had neglected.

I heard the front door open, and Christine came out, holding the skirt of her nightgown against the brisk wind to preserve her modesty. I attempted to ignore her calling for me.

"Please, Erik," she said softly, "I'm sorry for saying that about you-"

"This isn't your fault!" I snapped, "Why do you blame yourself and apologize for everything?"

Her hands wove together and she averted her eyes. Why did I keep shouting at her?Shut up, shut up!

"I'll be quiet," she pleaded. "I only want to be with you."

"Why would you want to be with me now?" I retorted, not shouting at least.

"Erik, dear, I'm not upset with you and I sincerely hope you don't mean a word you're saying right now."

"Just stay home, go eat chocolates in your room or something."

"I don't _want_ to eat chocolates in my room. I'm not a child, certainly not now, and I want to come with you. I'll be quiet, I won't bring up anything-"

"Is this about wanting to come into town or buy chickens?"

"Neither, I want to be with you. Please... I don't think you really want to be alone, do you?"

I calmed my voice further, "I do... What type of flowers do you prefer?"

She sighed, "Wildflowers."

"Wildflowers?... I meant like, lilies, roses, daisies-?

"I'll like anything you get me... I love you."

She turned to go back inside. Of course I wanted her to come with me, to have her talking about how beautiful the sky was, and speaking to the horses like they were people, and when she fell into her usual habit of reminiscing about Sweden with her eyes soft...

She needed to be alone. She was lying, she had to be, she wanted to be alone. Maybe she didn't realize it, but she needed to be for a little while.

After an hour of riding in that cart alone, I was already regretting my decision to leave her behind. But I went into town and bought her a bouquet of wildflowers as she had requested, and a blue blown-glass vase for them.

Then a small group of children ran through the street, chasing each other and giggling. I watched them in dread and curiosity.

Christine would want one eventually. It was inevitable. I feared she was lying to me to, as always, not upset me, and that she did indeed want a child now. The thought was almost sickening to me. There were too many problems with this to name. Firstly, babies could be dangerous to a woman's health. Secondly, the midwife would be half an hour away, half that time if the horse sprinted the whole way, but that was still likely an hour that Christine would be alone and in pain. Thirdly, I would be a terrible father and the child would hate me. And then I also simply despised the things. They were the first to point, the first to jeer and mock. I had no fondness for them. A child of Christine's I could tolerate, as it was part of her, but tolerate at best.

And yet how could I deny Christine what was her basic right as a wife? She spoke of my rights, but she had them, too, the naturally assumed parts of her role. She had the right to a child should she want one.

Perhaps it was fortunate she wasn't accepting of her newfound desire, or whatever she felt. She could be mistaken, after all, she had admitted that she hadn't meant everything she said last night, and she had been quite confused.

But should she actually have desire for me- a concept I still believed merely a desperate hope- then she would likely have a child if she wanted one.

Imagine... Desire for me... Being wanted by someone...

I passed by a blooming meadow on the way home. It was already beginning to warm up from spring, and I wondered if I had misunderstood Christine earlier. Did she want me to actually bring her hand-picked wildflowers?

But I had already bought the others, so I decided to just bring her to the meadow should she want to. That would cheer her up.

The minute I had returned home, full of trepidation that she might be upset, Christine came immediately out the door. She was wearing the blue dress I had given her, the one she had at first been shy of because of its value. Her hair was still damp from a bath, but she was smiling now.

"Have you spoiled me again?" She teased cautiously, her hands folded in her skirts.

I contained a sigh of relief that she didn't seem upset, "Only the flowers, as you requested."

"They're lovely," she whispered, her eyes averted as I handed them to her. "I missed you."

"You did?"

"Of course. The house was so quiet without you... Did you buy yourself breakfast?"

"Yes," I lied.

"Good, I was worried you might... neglect yourself... Could I help with the chickens?"

"No."

"W-what do you mean? Why not?"

"I don't want them to scratch or peck you."

"They're bound by their feet, I'll be careful-"

"I said no."

"Erik, darling, you can't keep me from getting hurt from time to time, it's called life... but all right, I won't... Could I take off your mask now, please?"

I began to unhitch the horses, "Out of curiosity, where did you put my other?"

"I... broke it."

"Broke it?" I whispered, bewildered.

"I crept downstairs in the middle of the night and threw it down into the cellar. It took me three times, but... I destroyed it. Passionately."

I nodded, almost smiling in wonder of it, "Of course you did... How did I not hear?"

"I was surprised at that, also..." She reached up for my full mask. "Now, may I?"

I nodded, and it was gone. I hadn't been outside with it off since... I couldn't remember when.

She took it inside with the flowers. I raised my hand to place it upon my warped and ruined skin, now exposed to the air, pensive.


	15. Chapter 15: The Eyes of the Beholder

**ERIK**

"Why don't we go to the lake?" Christine offered that afternoon.

I glanced over at her from the piano. She was stretched across the sofa, an open book face-down on her lap. The deep blue fabric of her dress made her so infinitely beautiful that I could only bear fleeting glances or my eyes would paralyze in awe.

"Erik?" She asked.

"Hm?" I set aside my compositions. "Yes, what?"

She smiled, "You didn't hear me, did you?"

"No, no, I heard."

"Of course you did... So, will we go to the lake?"

"Yes, that sounds lovely," I replied, setting aside the freshly inked pages.

"I'll go get dressed, then."

"Dressed?"

She glanced down at herself, "I can't ride in this."

"Oh, of course, yes..."

She started up the stairs, then turned to lean over the railing, her glossy brown curls falling over her shoulders.

"Do we have any champagne?" She asked.

"Champagne? What is the occasion?"

"No occasion, I just think it sounds nice. Didn't you buy strawberries this morning?"

"Yes."

"Then it's settled. I'll only be a moment."

She seemed to have completely forgotten the previous night, and my lack of mask. I had a strange habit of adjusting it, and when I went to do this now, I found only my warped skin rather than the cool porcelain.

Inside these walls, my face didn't exist.

* * *

 **CHRISTINE**

The weather was crisp, the sun bright, and white ribbons stretched across the sky. It was certainly a beautiful day for a ride.

"Race me?" I offered, beaming as I flung myself up into Bris' saddle.

Erik barely smiled in reply, "Not now... I think I should put on my mask-"

"No one's around, and if they are then just tilt your head away. Doesn't it feel nice not to wear it?"

"I hardly notice."

I sighed in disbelief, "Let's not talk about your face, it'll make it harder for you to forget."

"I can forget my face no more than you can forget yours."

"We'll see about that... Come on, race me, Bris loves it when we do."

"Do you speak horse now?"

"No, but I can just tell."

"And what does Hazel say?" He asked, glancing down at the mare.

"Hmm, let me see... She likes you a lot."

"Oh?"

"Because you slip her apples everyday."

"I do not."

"I've seen you! You act like you don't care about her and then I find you talking to her when you think I can't hear."

"I do not."

I laughed, "All right, if you insist... We're nearly to the lake, are you sure you don't want to race?"

He smirked, "If you insist."

And he took off before I could blink.

"Erik!" I called as I set after him. "You're supposed to count!"

He laughed richly. It was a rare thing to hear, his laughter, but perhaps the lack of use had only brightened it. Why, I had never heard such a genuine laugh from anyone else.

I wondered what he thought of mine...

I slowed Bris down and slid out of the saddle. Hazel could roam, as she wouldn't run, but I tied Bris to a tree just to be safe. There was a type of grass they enjoyed around the lake, so they were both perfectly content to graze and lazily meander.

"Why do you always cheat?" I teased as he laid out the blanket.

"Because your reaction is adorable," he replied.

"Adorable?"

"And you laugh."

"You laughed, too."

He went silent.

"I like your laugh," I said.

He gave what seemed to be a nod, and proceeded to unpack the picnic basket.

"Are you all right?" I asked him.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You seem distracted. Ever since this morning, like you start thinking of something. What is it?"

He hesitated, "My compositions, of course."

"And what are you composing?"

He shrugged. I sat down on the blanket, finding it much more comfortable in pants rather than a dress. He joined me on the other end of the red-checked cloth.

I sank down to rest my head in my hands, "What are you composing?"

"I can't describe music."

"Well, is it dark, light, fast, slow-?"

"I'll show you when we're back home."

We poured two glasses of champagne, and I made a bit of conversation, but Erik seemed fixated on the spot just beyond my head. I turned to glance at it, and there was nothing save trees. He also had turned his body to hide his face as best he could.

"You seem distracted," I told him as I picked a strawberry from the basket.

His eyes met mine, "It's nothing."

"Nothing?... Won't you confide in me?"

His gaze turned towards the lake, "You must... miss Paris."

I squinted in confusion at where he was headed with this. I tossed aside the strawberry leaf.

"Paris?..." I replied. "Not really. I miss Madame Giry and Meg sometimes, and... I can't deny that I miss the thrill of performing, but I do enjoy it out here."

"I think you should..." the words pained him until his eyes grew taut, "go back."

My face fell, "What?"

"You should perform again. For a time."

"Erik, they wouldn't want me."

"I'm sure you would be quite the sensation in publicity," he said emotionlessly, picking at the edge of the blanket without observing it. "They would be delighted."

"What's wrong? Why are you suggesting this? Why don't you want me here-?"

"Not want you here?" He exclaimed, rising swiftly. "You... deserve more than this."

"Deserve? I don't deserve anymore than anyone else, and I _want_ to be here. I love it out here-"

"Don't you miss the stage? Being adored by all of Paris? Don't you miss having your dressing room covered in flowers, and handsome young men coming to kiss your hand?"

"Erik..." I sighed. "You know that was never why I sang. I sang because I couldn't live without doing so, and fortunately there was a compatible career."

"And now you are without that. You can't possibly be happy. At least admit to me that you're not happy instead of pretending you could ever be as a simple wife!"

"You act like you chose this for me! _I_ chose, all on my own, and if there are consequences, they are mine to bear. But that fact of the matter is that I _am_ happy here, happier than I ever was at the opera house. I have all the music I could ever want, everything I could ever want. I have the great blue sky and the wonders of nature at my doorstep, and I truly enjoy tending to the chickens and keeping a garden. I want for nothing material... And you're here... It's paradise."

"Paradise?" He whispered.

"I didn't ever know how much I would love a simple life such as this... But..."

"But?"

"I do miss my friends. It is my only regret that I cannot see them anymore."

"There is... a train."

"A train?"

"From Saint-Quentin."

He wouldn't meet my gaze, and he pulled at the seams of a blade of grass in his hands as a nervous tick.

"I won't leave you," I told him. "You wouldn't be able to bear it... And besides, it's my own fault I can't see them. I chose this-"

"I let you go once, I can bear it again," his jaw was taut.

"Do you want me to go away?"

"No, no... You don't want to leave?"

"Well, I... couldn't. I couldn't possibly."

"Because of me."

"Because I love you... and you've been left alone more than anyone ever should."

"It was far better to be alone, until I met you."

"Then that settles the matter. I'm not leaving."

I popped the tip of a strawberry into my mouth in decision, and as he turned his face away, alight with hope, mine fell ever so slightly.

He had been willing to let me go see them. Imagine! But I couldn't do that to him. It would tear him apart to be separated from me, that I knew. And what about Raoul?

"Want one?" I offered, extending a particularly vibrant strawberry to him.

"Those are yours," he replied.

"Mine, therefore mine to share," I beamed.

He took it. I stood up, taking a deep swallow of air.

"I'll never grow tired of how beautiful it is out here," I said, staring up at the clouds that resembled the strings of a violin. "Oh!"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really, I just... You should bring your violin out here sometime. You haven't before."

"That violin is over a hundred years old and has been with me for half my life, so I would not want to submit it to the elements."

"I suppose that's reasonable."

"You suppose?"

"It's just... My father loved to play outside. I often joked about him competing with the birds, but he said they inspired him... I tried to sing like a bird once."

"Whistling?"

"No, sort of... humming. Very high humming."

"Show me."

"Oh, I've forgotten how, and I assume it's not good for my voice."

"Perhaps..."

"How I love wearing pants, is that wrong to say? I wish women could wear them, it's silly that we must wear different clothes depending on our sex. I understand it's female modesty, but how comfortable these are."

"Aren't they restricting?"

"Restricting? A dress is restricting. Try running in one, keeping a bustle fastened beneath and a crinoline, oh, I can barely move in comparison to these."

He smiled secretively, "Well, you can wear anything you like here, save when we go into town."

Blood rushed to my face, "I couldn't possibly."

"But you just said you prefer pants."

"Well... I'm exaggerating a bit. Skirts aren't so terrible, and I'm nothing if not modest... when I can be. But I couldn't wear pants all the time, that's wrong. I only wear them as a necessity."

He shrugged, "The rules of society don't apply to us anymore, isn't that what you said?"

"I say it often... and I believe it."

We sat in silence for a moment, gazing at the beauty around us. Then Erik stood up as if to make an announcement, his mismatched face glowing in the sunlight.

"I have something to show you," he told me. "Follow me on Bris."

"What are you showing me?"

"Nothing exceptional, but you may yet enjoy it."

"I would love to see... if we race."

"Well, I suppose that's no different than you following me."

"Oh, you hear that Bris?" I said, stroking her nose. "You think Hazel can beat us, dearie?"

Once the blanket had been put away, we started off down the road in the direction of town. Erik darted ahead of me, but I caught him, laughing as our horses' hooves synched for but a moment before he regained his lead. Bris snorted and rebuilt her momentum, pulling us forward past Erik and Hazel. Bris was younger, after all, and still like a foal in energy. Her enthusiasm brought us ahead, kicking up dirt. I beamed back at Erik.

"Careful of the trees!" He warned.

I nodded, turning forward again. He was right, the limbs hung lower here. But I wasn't a child, I only wished he wouldn't advise me like one all the time...

We came upon a fork and I slowed an indignant Bris as Erik caught up.

"Hazel's worn out, no more running," he said. "It's just up ahead."

We came upon a bright mound of long grass dotted with colorful little suns. There were daisies, dandelions, cornflowers, buds of lavender, it was such a dazzling array, and all freshly opened from spring sunlight.

"It's beautiful," I told him.

Erik sat back a bit in the saddle in pride, "You can pick some, if you so desire."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly pluck anything from this Eden."

"Eden is a strong description. It's merely a meadow."

"A meadow golden with the sun and coated with flowers. Oh, look!" I said, hushed. "A fawn and its mother! There in the treeline, back there, look!"

"I see them..." he said softly.

"You don't think this is beautiful, do you?"

"Music is beautiful. Everything has been tarnished save it."

"Why don't we go home, then, and spend some time with music?" I offered, already turning Bris. "I'm craving the violin, I think, perhaps a duet for us both with it?"

"If you wouldn't mind returning."

"Not at all... though I think Bris isn't done running, she's still quite excited. I'll go up ahead a little ways."

He nodded. Bris took off with little coaxing, and I savored the rush of wind upon my face. The sunlight shone through the budding branches of the trees and pooled on the dirt road beneath us.

I shut my eyes for a moment in bliss, and upon opening them they shot wide in horror before my skull collided with a protruding tree-limb.

The world dissolved like ashes, and I woke to find myself on my back, with Erik dabbing at my head with a soaked handkerchief.

My vision was hazy. Had there been so many trees before? And why did Erik have two heads?

"You're awake, you're awake," he sighed in relief. "H-how do you feel?"

My breaths were shallow from having fallen upon my back. I managed out hoarsely, "My head... aches."

"I'm going to get the cart to take you back home in," he said, his tone still bearing a trace of panic. "Keep the cloth on your head, I'll be quick."

He tied Hazel to the tree near me, and then he sped off on Bris towards the house. I began to cry, how terribly it all hurt. My head was pounding blood in my ears, vibrating like a drum, and all my limbs were leaden. I began to regain my breathing, but my lungs seemed to have hollowed out.

I focused my bleary mind to the beauty around me to distract from my pain, and prayed Erik would return soon and not be burying himself in shame. Nothing was broken, at least, save perhaps a bit of my pride.


	16. Chapter 16: Understanding

**Erik has an inner monologue in this one that may be my favorite so far.**

 **Also, as a note, I am very familiar with music and the violin. I suppose that's important to say at some point to give me some credit, so there you are :)**

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 **ERIK**

She was fine, perfectly fine. There had been no blood, nothing had broken; she was unharmed save her frail breaths and the lump growing upon her forehead. Likely she would need to rest for a few days, but that was all.

I wept like a child regardless. What if she had not been fine? What if I had lost her?

It was terrifying to think of, but she was mortal. She was not an angel or a goddess, however I might think of her, she would not live forever. Likely I would die first, which had consoled me until now. Life was unpredictable and cruel, even for such kind being as Christine. I should know that the most of anyone.

I choked on air as I struggled to breathe through my tears. I threw pillows and blankets into the back of the cart and hitched up Hazel, who stamped her hoof in impatience.

How long had I been away from her? Was she frightened? Alone beneath the very tree that had dared harm her?

Once the cart was set, I started Hazel and she trotted down the road to Christine. I found her exactly as I had left her, save that her forehead had purpled and swelled dramatically. Her bright eyes were firmly shut, with her hands over them against the sun.

"I'm here," I said, though she knew that already.

"The world is spinning," she told me quietly.

I wrapped my arms about her and placed her in the cart on the pillows. She put the blanket over her head to shield her eyes.

"You need to rest once we get home," I informed her as I hitched Bris to the cart.

She gave no sign of reply. I started us home, missing her presence beside me, the way she stared up at the sky as if it would vanish.

 _"My father gave me a great appreciation for God's creations."_

I stopped the cart in front of the house, and carried her up to her bed. I went to quickly put the horses back in their stables before returning to be sure she was all right.

"How do you feel?" I asked, approaching where she lay on the bed, her hands over her eyes.

"I..." She squinted painfully, "Could you repeat that?"

"How do you feel?"

"Awful... It's so bright."

I drew the curtains closed, "There, better?"

Her hands fell, "Much."

"I'll make you a tonic and bring some cloths for your head."

"I'm bleeding?"

"No, no, cool cloths, in water."

"Oh..."

"I'll be right back. Don't get up."

I hurried to make something to remedy her headache, as well as soothe her to allow her rest. She would be fine in a few days if she slept well, perhaps even by tomorrow.

I took a bowl of water and a tonic upstairs to her. She drank it, and I placed a cool cloth upon her swollen forehead.

"Thank you," she whispered.

I nodded.

"Could you-?" She asked, but seemed to have forgotten what she was going to say next.

"What do you need?"

"Could you stay with me?"

"Of course," I replied, perplexed at the very notion of leaving her alone.

"I mean... Won't you hold me?"

"Hold you?... Lie down with you?"

She gave a pale nod, and I found my way to her side. Cautious, so as to be sure she wouldn't be upset by it, I placed her head upon my lap. She shut her eyes in complacence, perhaps more? Did she truly enjoy this close proximity as I did?

I held her in the darkness as she slept. Perhaps I ought to have gotten bored, but I could not possibly with her so close.

How was she here? I couldn't help asking that question every single time she invited me to her side. How could she possibly want me near her, adoring her so pathetically? She deserved perfection. She deserved a mansion and beautiful, decadent gowns, a title, and a husband who was capable, who was handsome, who knew how to love her... how to kiss her the way she should be...

How had she given all of that up for me, when she hadn't even known she might love me? If she even _did_ love me...

I dabbed at her head gingerly, refreshing the cool water as she slept. At one point, she stirred gently and thanked me, before going silent again as she fell back asleep.

There was something about this situation, about her sleepy gratitude, that made the dark view of the room blur. It was both so terrible and so wonderful all at once to have her there.

When she woke up, it was dark outside. She was hesitant to ask for dinner so late, as if it would trouble me, and I retorted, irritated by her assumption, that she could never trouble me with such a thing.

When I returned with a simple broth for her, as well as another tonic, she asked how long it would be until she was better.

"Only a few days," I replied. "Tomorrow you should be able to come downstairs, but don't exert yourself. And then each day do as much as you are capable of."

"I only hit my head."

"Because you fell unconscious from it, you likely injured your brain, and it needs time to heal."

"But isn't my brain... my brain... protected by my skull?"

"It can still be injured... It's difficult to explain, just rest."

"Can I read?"

"No, that could hurt your head."

"Could you read to me?"

"Perhaps a bit of soft music would be better."

Her eyes lit up in the darkness, "That sounds lovely."

She sat up in bed and began on her soup. I went downstairs to fetch my violin.

I was always delighted by the fact that I could give her the music of heaven whenever she asked. It didn't seem quite fair for her to be giving all of herself to me without something in return.

Well, not all of herself...

"No, no," I murmured aloud, shoving the thought away as I picked up my instrument.

I had done so well to resist her, put up walls around myself that only let in the pure light of her, rather than stoke a fire inside me. It was a tedious, but necessary endeavor, and now I feared my defenses were crumbling. She had admitted she felt a bit of desire for me. Had she told me 'no,' simply said that one word to deny all my hopes, I could have kept myself inside those walls. How could I now, when she had admitted to enjoying that kiss as much as I had?

The mere thought of having her so close was enough to put me in a daze. To love her in the most intimate manner- yes, love! Before it had been this... _hideous_ thing in comparison. When I was younger, surrounded by the worst kinds of people, I had learned it as a right. It was no more than an act. There was no significance to it save pleasure.

Christine had it on a much higher pedestal, almost too high. She saw it as more of a symbol, and was insisting to wait until we fully trusted one another. Oddly enough, I preferred this idea better. I wanted to be entirely hers, and for her to be entirely mine. I had never belonged anywhere, not in my mother's house, not in India or Persia, not even the opera house. I either forced myself to remain in a place or was hired to stay.

I had a home now. I had a wife and a home, two words I never thought I would be able to say.

"What time is it?" Christine asked me as I pushed open her door, the violin beneath my arm.

"Eleven o'clock," I replied, setting it upon my shoulder and checking the intonation.

"Oh... are you tired?"

"Not a bit... I may have dozed off with you for a little while."

"That's good... You'll... sleep with me, won't you?"

"I would prefer not to."

"Why-?"

I interrupted her with a grand chord rather than an explanation, and her lips shut. My mind dissolved with the music. That was why I had played at first, as a boy, when I had learned that my mind could be fully occupied by something other than fear and pain. For a moment, I could escape. For a moment, I could be praised rather than despised. It was that brief moment of bliss that music offered, until the final note, when only the hum of ecstasy was left in the air.

She fell asleep to it, as I had hoped. I considered slipping in beside her- after all, I had been invited- but it could be painful to be so close to her. I did not doubt my self-control in regards to her, but the pain of temptation kept me away.

She stirred upon feeling the weight on the mattress shift. She was quite asleep still, her eyes slivers, but motioned for me to return, and I had not the will to deny her. I slid in bed beside her, and she- perhaps not fully aware- laid her head against my chest.

I was utterly shocked by the intimacy of this. Before, of course, we had slept in the same bed, but with space in between. Earlier, her head had rested on my lap, but atop the bedsheets. Now we were practically in a lovers' embrace.

I was suddenly shocked by the realization that, just over a month ago, this would have been her worst fear. She was quite sedated, perfectly helpless. She trusted me to be at her side even so.

I now found comfort in being unable to comprehend.

* * *

 **CHRISTINE**

I woke up that morning to find Erik and I entwined together. I was so surprised at the position that my mind leapt to a conclusion before I could think.

Had we made love? I couldn't remember the prior night well. Surely I hadn't agreed to such a thing? Not yet, I wasn't ready yet, _we_ weren't ready yet. And my head, I hadn't been sound enough to consider it, surely he knew that?

My heartbeat grew rapid, and Erik stirred, perhaps awakened by it. His eyes met mine. They displayed a similar emotion to that of a caught child, and he disentangled himself immediately.

"You offered," he explained. "You asked me to."

My head was still too dull for me to earnestly think, so I began to cry. He backed away, perplexed.

"I didn't... I'm sorry," he pleaded. "You offered it."

I kept crying weakly, wondering why I would have agreed to it, and also why I didn't feel touched. I was also dressed.

My tears ceased. I sniffled, "What are you saying?"

"You wanted me to hold you last night. You asked me."

He was quite defensive regarding the matter.

"Oh..." I whispered, almost inclined to laugh at my stupid assumption. "I-I thought... It must be my head."

"What did you think?"

His mismatched face suddenly flushed, and he had left the room in an instant, shutting the door behind himself.

I whimpered as I exhaled, sinking into the mattress. I did trust him; it seemed now the one I was afraid of was me. What if _I_ gave in?

My head strained from thought, so I simply lied down on my bed in silence. Erik would calm himself down and return. He always did.

I found that his violin was resting upon my desk, its bow alongside. My memory returned, of him playing me to sleep, and I must have asked him to remain. That made far more sense.

He returned in about an hour with breakfast for me: an egg and some toast. When I thanked him, he gave a sort of grunt in reply, before going and picking up the violin. He strummed the strings to be sure they were in tune, before it rose to his shoulder.

He played while I ate, not meeting my gaze. My head hummed a little, but it didn't exactly hurt, only seemed a bit strained.

Whatever music was issuing from beneath his fingers, my mind blurred out, but my eyes focused upon. The way he moved with the instrument was like it was a part of him. The melodies were a breeze, turning him every which way. It was a dance.

My gaze focused upon the black fingerboard. I was suddenly aware that my pulse was heavy in my veins, heavy and quick, from the effect of his playing. His vibrato was marvelous, effortless, and I shut my eyes to feel its full effect. It made me shiver with wonder.

My face burned as my mind wandered to the thought of those graceful hands upon me. I pulled away my gaze, horrified at myself. How could I think of such things?

"That was beautiful," I told him, when he at last finished.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, lazily plucking a G and refusing my gaze.

"I didn't mean what I said this morning. I wasn't thinking. You know that I would never suspect such a thing had not my head been injured."

"How much do you trust me?"

"How much...? Trust is gained over time. How long have we been married now?"

"A month and a half."

"That's simply not long enough to fully trust someone is all... and... Erik, you lied to me before. Yes, I've forgiven you, but I'm human and can't simply forget tha."

"I haven't lied to you at all since."

"You've done an exceedingly fine job."

"Am I a child to be praised?" He asked bitterly.

"I don't want to argue right now... No, you're not a child. You're a genius far surpassing myself, but in social matters, you don't have any experience. It's not cruel to say; it's just true. We both have much to learn still."

"Both? What have you to learn?"

"How to be your wife."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well... being your wife is different than being another man's wife."

"How?"

"You're not like other men. You've seen more, accomplished more, and you have far more regrets than most could imagine. So I have to learn how to love you differently than loving another man, one who hasn't known the hardships you have, and one who isn't constantly doubting the love of his wife."

"What does loving me differently entail?"

"A lot more... understanding. And love. Most men don't need constant love as you do. They simply know it's there, and you don't, do you?"

"It seems impossible."

"That's why I give you so many kisses," I teased lightly. "You know you can ask whenever you need one, don't you?"

"I'm sure I don't, not after the last time."

"Oh... it's all right. I overreacted last time."

His hands wove together, ""Then may I have one now?"

He seemed to doubt I would acquiesce, and was quite surprised when I beckoned him over and met my lips to his. It lasted only a moment, but I knew it was priceless to Erik.

I healed up in a few days, and was soon back outside helping him with the chickens and the garden. There were sprouts upon the earth, and I was enthusiastic about the little accomplishment.

Then, after a week of waiting to be sure the memory would somewhat fade, I asked Erik if we could go on a ride to the lake. His gaze fell to the carpet before the sofa where we sat.

"I'm going to sell your horse," he informed me.

"What?..." I exclaimed, bewildered. "Why would you do that?"

"We can walk to the lake, can't we?"

"But I love riding with you."

"I love having you well."

"That was an accident-"

"No," he said emphatically, rising from the sofa. "I can't ride with you again. I can't."

My lips parted in sympathy, "Erik, dear... If that's your reason, then... yes, you can sell Bris. Make sure she goes to a good home, though."

His hand twitched into a fist before relaxing. His lopsided lips parted in surprise at my willingness, as typically I would be adamant against such a thing.

I understood him better now. This was a matter I did not think deserving of a long argument against a man who was genuinely afraid of the outcome.

People rarely say how much patience is required in a marriage, only respect and trust. Patience, I felt, was just as important.

Bris was gone in two days, and Erik seemed to brace himself for my reaction, but I pretended to be unaffected. He was quite overwhelmed by the change, and kept inquiring as to my health for the following days.

"You're not disappointed?" He finally inquired as we spent an afternoon by the lake.

I sighed, "I am disappointed, but it's all right."

He was silent for a moment, staring out at the blot of sunlight upon the waters. Then he turned back to me.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, too... Could I ask a favor?"

His eyes lit, "Anything."

"I want to send a letter."

The light extinguished, "My dear, we can't send letters."

"I know you could find a way... Please, for Madame Giry and Meg. What if they're worried? After all this time? I would feel much better if-"

"And I expect more than just them?" He added bitterly.

"Erik-"

"Who do you love more?"

"I... what?"

"Who do you love more?" He repeated firmly.

"You. You're my husband. I can't love another man; that's a sin."

"If it wasn't?"

"I don't want to talk about it. It hurts me."

"Then you do pine after him still."

"No, I-"

"It makes sense that you do."

"I couldn't have married him!" I exclaimed.

"Couldn't?" He inquired, perplexed.

"I'm not a vicomtesse, Erik," I said, becoming upset. "I couldn't force him to run away with me, either. That wouldn't have been fair to him. The life he wanted for me wouldn't have suited me at all, with or without our love. I realize that now... I'm far happier out here. I feel free out here."

There was a moment of silence before he added, "I do, too."

I leaned my head onto his arm, "I'm glad."

It was best not to think of Raoul, because it made my heart turn leaden in guilt. Yes, I had loved Raoul. He had been my first love, sweet and naive as I was, and I had left him without a proper goodbye. He deserved more.

I had not lied to Erik, though; this life was right for me, and I did love him. I did love him.


	17. Chapter 17: Separation

**This one's bursting at the seams fluffy, my goodness...**

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 **CHRISTINE**

The following evening, I was reading a novel Erik had bought me. He was composing, then he would cease suddenly, as if deep in thought, before continuing. The air was cool enough still to require a fire at night, which was preferred when reading a book, though I had a candle to illuminate the pages as well.

Without warning, Erik stood up and said, "I have a way."

I set aside my book, confused, "What?"

"The letter. To send the letter, there's a way."

"Oh... thank you, dear, thank you so much-"

"I have to travel alone for a day to another town."

"Alone?" I questioned. "Why alone?"

"The animals need to be cared for," he replied, regretful.

I hesitated to think, "Will you be all right?"

"I've been alone before."

"I know..." I glanced upstairs in sudden realization. "I have something to give you before you do this for me."

"What is it?"

I went upstairs, my stomach twisting in anxiety. Did I trust him this much? To rid myself of all I had to run away?

I didn't want to run away now, though, nor did I have a reason. He needed this to be sure of my trust.

I found the little purse of francs and brought it downstairs to him. He stared at it in surprise.

"What's that?" He asked.

I opened it, "I kept some money in my room to make me feel safe before... I don't need it now."

"You kept...?" He stared at it in confusion. "You're giving me this?"

"I want you to have full trust in me when you leave."

He shook his head suddenly, "No, no, you can keep this."

"I want you to trust me-"

"You can't possibly be giving me all you stored away. This isn't even enough to get you to Paris."

"Only enough to send a letter, should the need arise. But there's no need anymore. I promise, this is all I have, and I want our money together."

"Are you certain?"

"Entirely. I know that you love me, now I need you to trust me."

I extended the purse to him again. He took it from me, utterly bewildered and moved by the gesture.

"It's not right to have secrets in marriage," I added. "I'm glad to be rid of one... May I write my letter now?"

He continued staring at the purse, "Of course."

I grabbed a piece of paper and pen and ink before heading up to my room. As I set these upon my desk, I ran over words in my head to write.

"Dear Antoinette and Meg,

I am perfectly well, and I hope that both of you are, also. I meant to send a letter before, but due to circumstances this was impossible. Now, however, we have found a way to send one.

I am married to the Opera Ghost, as you know him, of my own free will. We have a lovely house and a garden, though due to our need to go unseen, I cannot describe this in detail. The address on here is also incorrect. Please do not try to find me, as I love my husband very much, enough to break the law to keep him free.

I request that you show this note to Raoul. Tell him that I miss him very much, but that I have made a choice I cannot turn back from, nor do I want to. Also, my prior note to him was honest and still stands. I hope he can forgive me.

I am sorry that I could not give you any forewarning of all this. The decision was hastily made. I do miss you both terribly, though. I hope I will see you again some day.

Amitié,

Christine Daaé"

I sealed it with relief. My sudden disappearance had weighted down my heart as theirs must have been, and now I felt alight. Everything was taken care of now.

Except that Erik had to be without me for a day. Yes, he should learn how to cope with it, but... it hurt me to think of.

"I have it," I told him as I came downstairs.

He was stone-faced as he took it. My heart tore in two directions: to burn the note and refuse to have him leave, or give my friends the knowledge they deserved to have. There was no way to have both.

"I'll leave tomorrow morning," he said.

We occupied separate beds that night, at Erik's request. He had a nightmare, though, so this distance was short lived. It was painful, hearing him racked with sobs, feeling his hands find mine with sheer desperation the moment I slipped in beside him. He was like a child. I consoled him like a child, holding him to my chest until he quieted. I didn't want to know what he saw at night. He had not told me everything, far from it, but I had found my curiosity vanishing with his pained eyes when I requested another part of his history. I didn't want to know.

He rose early the next morning. I was bleary-eyed still, rubbing at them and yawning as I shuffled downstairs.

"Do you want me to make you breakfast?" I offered.

"I'll bring an apple," he replied.

"I can fry an egg-"

"I'm fine... I'm going to get the cart ready."

He went to do so. I remained inside for a moment, deeply conflicted, then I went out to him. He had Hazel harnessed and was putting a sack of provisions in the back of the cart.

I came over to him, "I'll miss you."

"I..." he went silent.

"What is it?"

"I've never been missed."

I folded my lips, "Then perhaps this is a good thing for us, however difficult it may be for you."

"Not for you, though."

"It's different for me. I know you'll come back."

"You'll be here when I return," he said quietly, as if trying to convince himself.

"I will... Let me kiss you goodbye."

I cupped his face in my hands and drew his lips to meet mine. I felt myself warming, almost bubbling with it. There was no way for me to push the feeling away; it was too wonderful to resist. I let it draw me in.

Erik remained still as I deepened the kiss, wrapping my arms about him. He wasn't giving in. One of his hands found my waist, but nothing more. Why did I want him to give in?

He broke away. _He pulled away from me._ I could feel shame burning my features as he turned to avoid my gaze.

"Why must you say one thing and do another?" He whispered. "Why?"

"I... I'm human," I replied quietly.

"So am _I_ , Christine."

I folded my lips and tasted them, and somehow that action made him turn away. My heart was thudding in my veins. I wanted him to hold me like he had before. I wanted the world to fade away again; I wanted exhilaration; I wanted... I-I wanted...

The thought made me shiver with an indescribable feeling.

"Kiss me," I told him.

He shook his head, "You don't truly want me to."

"What do you mean?"

"You want these lips?" He said with disgust. "What do you find at all appealing in them? Do you not see how disgusting I am?"

"Disgusting? How can you hate yourself so? I find your lips... appealing. But, of course, it's not your lips, it's- it is, it's you. I... enjoy kissing you, I do. Your lips are perfectly fine. They're you."

"You're honest?"

I nodded, "Why would I be lying?"

"Why indeed?"

He took a step towards me, and I towards him. His hand came to rest on my chin, then another along my waist, and I smiled to give him confidence. The places his touch met warmed, like his fingertips were coals.

 _Gentle_. He was so gentle with the kiss- desperate, yet slow. It was a contradiction that I adored. I felt loved. He loved me so terribly and the only way he could truly express it seemed to be this. It was not rough, nor did it give me reason to fear. The only fear I felt was that my heart would take hold of my mind, making me incapable of logical reasoning.

Maybe I didn't want logical reasoning.

His hands did not wander. He trembled, though, his entire body trembled against mine, fragile yet strong. When I shifted towards him, when my hand crept to his chest, he shuddered. This tenderness was alien to him.

We separated, a bit breathless. We stared into each other's eyes, once again enveloped in the moment. The warmth began to drain from me, and he pulled himself up into the cart.

"I'll be back late," he informed me.

"Be safe," I replied.

"Be safe?" He inquired, confused. "What do you mean?"

"People say it. I just want you to be safe is all."

"You don't need to worry about me."

"I will anyway... I'll see you tonight. I'll stay awake until you come back."

"I may be until four in the morning, my dear, there's no need-"

"I will anyway," I told him, stubborn.

He sighed in amused irritation as he donned his full mask, "Goodbye now."

"Wait... do you want something of mine to take with you?"

"The journey is a _day_ , my dear, not a month."

"Won't you miss me?"

"I... expect so."

"It'll be lonely here without you, and quiet. But thank you so much for doing this for me. It's so kind of you."

He nodded, as he often did in place of "you're welcome."

"Goodbye, Erik. I love you."

He stared at me in wonder, "I love you... too... Goodbye."

He started the cart, then faded out of sight. I remained staring for quite some time before turning round to the house.

He had never been gone longer than two hours. The remainder of the day was silent, lonely. My head filled me with terrible ideas, of him being found out, being taken away from me, or being hurt in some way. Anything could happen on the road, even to him.

My stomach knotted itself up until I couldn't sleep or eat that evening. I wished that I had Poco to distract me, and this thought made me dissolve into tears like a fool. Why was I reacting like this? Erik would be back. He was fine. He had to be.

Even I could not deny that I loved him. How else could I be glancing at the window restlessly, even though I knew he would not be home until early morning, if I did not love him?

* * *

 **ERIK**

It was dark when I reached the town. The sky was dense with clouds, the only illumination the dim gaslights along the cobblestone road below.

The mailing of the letter was quite simple. There was simply a box to place it into, and I had already taken every precaution. I was running a risk, yes, but for Christine. This would keep her from worrying.

As I started to leave, I caught out of the corner of my eye a glossy black carriage with white horses. This town was not exceedingly poor, but certainly not wealthy enough for such a thing.

My heart stopped. No, no, it couldn't be. I was being ridiculous, paranoid. Why would the vicomte be here? I would simply ask the driver of the carriage.

This man was sitting leisurely up front, picking at his fingernails. The carriage was in front of an well-lit inn.

"Monsieur, may I inquire as to your master?" I asked.

The coachman turned to me, squinting in the dim light, "Who's asking?"

"A horseman. Those are a fine breed," I gestured to the white horses. "I was curious as to where they came from."

"Not from around these parts," he said haughtily. "These are imported from Spain."

"Hm. Well goodnight then, monsieur."

It was as I turned to get into my cart that the vicomte came striding out of the inn. I recognized him immediately. His blonde curls were quite distinct, his ruddy features alight in the dark. His posture and attire set him apart.

I started Hazel back towards home before I could act on instinct. My blood was hot and quick in my veins. It would be so easy to kill him. Christine wouldn't even know.

Christine...

No more murders. She would hate me forever, no more murders. The Vicomte would never take her away from me, besides.

I knew that if he found her, she would realize her mistake and seek to run away with him. I couldn't have that happen. I couldn't return to living in the dark.

When I did return home, my anger dissipated immediately at the sight of Christine in her nightgown and stockings, curled up on the sofa. Her lips were gently parted, and her brown curls fanned about her head, which lay upon two tasseled pillows.

I smiled weakly. But what should I do with her? Let her sleep in such a position that she might hurt her neck for tomorrow, or bring her up to her room, possibly awakening her in the process?

I came over to stare at her, transfixed. Then she stretched herself out and blinked up at me, her mouth widening in a smile.

"You're back!" She said happily. "I had such horrible fantasies, you have no idea. But here you are, and my letter has been sent. We ought to celebrate tomorrow, don't you think? We could go into town together. Oh, won't you buy me a dress for the summer? I should have a nice one to wear then. Do you think pink? I know it's a bit of an odd color for women, but many wear it, and it's so beautiful! I think it would bring out my lips, don't you?"

Her face fell as she truly met my eyes.

"Erik, dear?" She asked. "What's wrong? You don't seem happy."

I waved away her words, "It's nothing."

"I don't believe you... Aren't you happy to see me again?"

"Of course I am."

"You're... pale. You seem pale."

"I'm _fine_." I said through my teeth, growing irritated beyond my control. "Why don't you go up to bed now?"

"Won't you come up with me? Only because you were gone for the day."

"If you... want me to, then I suppose I must."

"Yes, I do," her voice grew fast and excited again. "You're actually a very pleasant sleeping partner. Most men snore is what I've heard, and you don't at all-"

"I wake you up from my nightmares," I reminded her bitterly.

"That's different. I don't mind comforting you during that, but _snoring_ , oh, goodness, I heard this one woman shoved her husband off the bed and they sent her to an asylum! Of course that can't be true, but I'm sure it _could_ have happened."

"Have you been drinking?"

"What? Drinking, who do you think I am? I'm just tired is all. When I'm tired I talk like this, all over the place. I thought you knew."

"Apparently I've never seen you fully tired before."

"Apparently not. But I haven't had any wine this evening, I promise. I hardly ate my dinner."

"What?" I said, concerned. "Why not?"

"Anxiety."

"Over me?"

"Who else?" She smiled. "I wanted to make you a cake or something sweet, to occupy myself, and found out that we're out of sugar. We'll need to buy some tomorrow."

"With the dress?"

"Yes, with the dress. I want you to pick it out, something you would like-"

"I don't care what you wear, my dear."

"Oh, surely you do a little? Are there colors you prefer?"

"Pink would be fine... though you are fair."

"Probably more of a coral pink, then... We ought to go to bed before I talk all until morning."

"I imagine the change of scene will do little to stem you."

"Perhaps not," she beamed. "I'll wait for you. We can sleep all tomorrow morning."

She turned around and headed upstairs. I watched her go before following, still perturbed by the proximity of the vicomte.

When I slipped into bed with her, she curled up around me.

"Does this bother you?" She asked.

I was practically holding my breath, "No."

"Good... It's so nice to be with someone at night. When it's light outside, I don't feel alone, but when it's dark, I do... Goodnight."

"Goodnight, my dear."

The next morning, Christine's place was empty. I heard the wail of a kettle, which was silenced instantly.

I sat up in bed. My watch said it was ten o'clock. I couldn't remember ever having slept so late without nightmares.

Christine's footsteps came up the stairs, accompanied by an irritated sigh. Upon entering the room, she fell onto her back on the bed, a hot water bottle in her hands. This she set on her abdomen.

"Are you feeling all right?" I asked.

"Not at all," she sighed. "It's much worse this time."

"What is?"

She almost glared at me, if she was capable of such a look, "My flowers, Erik."

"Oh, of course... It hurts badly enough for you to need a hot water bottle?"

"It helps ease it."

"I'll make you something for it."

"Thank you," she said, relieved.

I nodded, heading downstairs. We were certainly not going into town today, but at least I could tend to her.

She actually felt much better that afternoon, or lied that she did, so I hitched Hazel to the cart. She came out in her blue dress which made her pale skin glow. I had to pull my eyes away from her.

"Does my hair look nice?" She asked, beaming. "I decided to pin it up rather than curl it."

"Curl it? Isn't your hair naturally curly?"

"Of course, but it needs to be tamed somehow, especially when going into a public place."

"You care about what they think."

"Well, I need to be presentable, but..." She colored a little. "I mainly did it for you."

"For me?"

She nodded, "You think I'm very beautiful, so if I make myself look prettier, no one will even notice your mask. And maybe I can make men jealous of you, don't you think?"

She curled her hand around mine. I would never understand her.

"If that's what you want," I told her.

"I want you to be proud, so yes, it is. And I am beautiful today, aren't I?"

"Like an angel."

"Your angel. And you're mine, aren't you?"

"Yes," I breathed.


	18. Chapter 18: A Coral Dress

**ERIK**

Christine took me into the dress shop once we had bought necessities. The woman there had a gray chignon high atop her head, and spectacles on her hooked nose. She was quite enthusiastic with Christine, showing her multiple fashions and offering color suggestions. Evidently there were few who came seeking more expensive dresses, and she was determined to take as much money from us as possible.

"Which one do you like?" Christine kept asking me.

"I..." _Why did she keep asking me as if I would be any help to her here?_ "I don't know."

"Might I recommend this one?" The woman said, pointing to a picture of one embroidered at the edges with flowers, and with glass buttons down the bodice. The bustle was lightly ruffled in the back with a little bow.

"I like that one," Christine said, then she turned to me. "Do you think it's nice?"

"You'll look beautiful in anything," I told her, "but yes, it's lovely."

"The price is very reasonable for the quality, as well," the woman added. "Let me measure you, my dear."

She took her back into another part of the shop. I felt quite out of place in the midst of women's clothes, but at least they had the decency not to display underwear, save a corset near the back. There was a little bonnet adorned with flowers atop a mannequin in the front window.

Should I buy her a hat as well? Perhaps a parasol? This _was_ a dress for the summer, so perhaps she would let me buy her accessories for it. It was so nice to be buying her things.

I glanced out the window, and my blood drained. There was the black carriage with white horses, rolling over the cobblestones. It stopped in front of a shop two stores down.

I had been an idiot to speak to his driver. How could I have been so stupid? He must have told him, that's how he found out. And yet how would he know this was the town? He couldn't. He was guessing.

 _What to do?_

Christine emerged from the back of the shop. The woman said something to us about how long the dress would take to make. I gave her some amount of money.

"Are you all right?" Christine asked as we turned towards the door.

"We need to leave," I told her.

"Leave?"

"Sit on the opposite side of me, try your best to be inconspicuous. Turn your head towards me."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," I pleaded. "Nothing, just do as I say."

Her lips tensed, "All right, but you must tell me when we get home."

I nodded, though I would not oblige her. She couldn't know. She couldn't leave me.

We managed, by some miracle, to start out of town just as he exited the bakery and went into the dress shop. He would find out about a masked man. He would know.

The journey home was silent. Once we arrived, I unhitched the cart and told Christine to go inside.

"No," she replied firmly. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

"Just go inside-"

"What is going on?" She demanded anew, her hands on her hips.

"It's really nothing, my dear, please go inside-"

"It's Raoul," she said, her eyes widening in realization. "You saw him, didn't you? That's the only explanation, you saw him!"

"No, no, someone else-"

"But it's all right! I can explain to him-"

"It's not the vicomte!" I cried. "It's... a man I knew, from the fair."

Her eyes widened, "Oh... I'm sorry, I... You're not going to hurt him, are you?"

"Not unless he goes away soon."

"No more murders! I won't be married to a murderer."

"You _are_ married to a murderer-"

"A repentant murderer! You know what you did was horribly wrong and you won't do it again, yes?"

"For you, I won't."

"Good..." She took a breath, her hands falling back to her sides. "Good, I'll go inside now."

The moment she had done so, I felt my eyes welling up. What if he took her away? I had Christine and nothing else. She even loved me, or at least thought she did. I had never had so much. The moment he found us, if he did, she would be lost to me. He would take her away.

 _If you killed him, he wouldn't be able to._

I couldn't do that, though. If Christine found out, she would hate me.

 _She wouldn't find out._

No more murders!

I found my way into the house, trembling. Christine was in the kitchen making tea, it appeared, so I went to the piano. My trembling ceased as my fingertips met the cool ivory.

Christine took some time in the kitchen. I realized when she emerged that she had made cakes to accompany, little white ones topped with cream. She smiled at me as I turned around to see her.

"What piece are you playing?" She asked.

"Mozart."

"Why do I even bother asking anymore?" She teased softly, setting the tray of cakes down. "Come sit with me, won't you? We can read a book together, if you want, to take your mind off things."

"I would prefer to play."

"Erik, I just made the tea and cakes for us. Why won't you come sit with me?"

"I didn't _ask_ you to make them."

She turned to me, her mouth open and her nose scrunched up.

"Why are you being rude?" She demanded.

"I said only what I thought."

"Well, it hurt. I'm trying to be thoughtful and... and romantic, even Erik, but what's gotten into you that you would hurt my feelings?"

I had hurt her? My heart panged with the sentiment I now knew was remorse, but I found my tongue unable to form an apology. My silence made her come over to me.

"What's wrong?" She asked, extending her hand to my shoulder. "Why has this upset you so much? Can't you forget, while you're here with me?"

"I cannot," I replied, her touch burning my skin.

"At least let me help-"

"It's nothing, Christine!" I shouted, nearly toppling over the bench as I rose to the side of it.

She took a step back, startled. I ran a hand over the undamaged side of my face.

"Maybe you do need some time alone," she told me, rubbing one of her wrists. "I'll go eat outside, then."

"No, you'll stay in here."

Her eyes were livid, "Excuse me?"

"I'll read a book with you."

She squinted in realization, and asked slowly, "Why can't I go outside?"

"I changed my mind is all. There's nothing against you going outside... What book have you been reading?"

"I..." She sighed, " _Au_ _Bonheur_ _des_ _Dames_. You bought it for me, remember? It's very interesting, but it's mostly about women, so you might not like it."

"I don't mind."

"I like it a lot, myself..." She glanced toward the door, then back at me. "They're all working-class women, and I can relate to them, even though it's from about twenty years ago."

"Do you want me to read it to you?"

"Yes, your voice is very soothing to listen to."

"Perhaps yours might be better fit for women, though."

"Perhaps... Let me pour some tea, calm you down a bit so you don't shout again."

My gaze fell, "I didn't mean to shout."

"I know... You never mean to."

She gestured for us to sit on the sofa. Then she bent over the coffee table to give me a little cake on a napkin.

"Try one," she said. "I never get to bake anything."

I took a bite. It was a bit firm for a cake, but the flavor was decent, perhaps a bit heavy on sugar.

"What do you think?" She asked.

"It's good."

"Really? You like it?"

Didn't I just say that-?

"Yes," I replied. "It tastes wonderful."

"You're so sweet... Would you read to me now?"

"Of course."

I did so for an entire hour, which made me almost forget about the nearby vicomte. She was wonderful to read to, mostly because she rested her head against my shoulder for most of the time, and blamed it on wanting to see the words as I read. She was close enough that I could smell the perfume she wore radiating off her wrists and wherever else she put the drops of floral scent.

At one point, she asked me to take the pins out of her hair. She said they were uncomfortable. I agreed, and she set her head down on my lap as I did so. I let the curls tumble from the bead-tipped metal, over and over, admiring the brown strands. It was entrancing to watch. Her hair was soft as down, and the candlelight danced off it.

My vision blurred. I was crying. I simply began to cry, without any prompting. Where the tears came from, I had no idea at that moment, but suddenly I was wrapped up in Christine's arms being soothed by her. She pulled my head against the softest part of her and ran her hand through my sparse hair.

"What's wrong?" She pleaded softly as the wells behind my eyes grew dry. "You've been anxious all since we came home. It's worrying me."

 _I can't lose you_... I wanted to say it so badly, but the words wouldn't come. _I can't bear to lose you..._

I felt her lips against my forehead, and I shuddered from the sensation.

"You shouldn't keep things pent up inside," she told me. "They'll do this to you."

"I love you," I said, as it was all I could manage.

"I love you, too..."

* * *

 **CHRISTINE**

As I undressed for bed that night, I considered what had happened earlier. Was Erik lying to me? Why would he ask me to turn my head, unless someone would recognize me? Why would a man from a fair know who I was, and therefore Erik?

It had to be Raoul. Erik was lying to me. What other explanation was there?

The knowledge of it cut deeply. He had lied again. Yes, he was desperate to keep me, but didn't he know I couldn't run away with Raoul? Didn't he trust me at all? How ruined was he from the world that he still couldn't believe the depth of my love and compassion towards him?

I decided I would sneak out that night and take Hazel into town. Erik stayed up late composing, however, and retired promptly at midnight. I waited yet another hour before I dared slip downstairs, a cloak about my shoulders. The door creaked as it opened. My head shot around for fear he had heard the noise.

There was movement upon the floorboards upstairs. A tremor ran through me.

I shut the front door, and instantly one opened at the top of the stairs, followed by Erik rushing down. I attempted to remove my cloak, but there was no time.

He stared at me, bewildered. His eyes were wide with fear and hurt.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"To find out the truth," I retorted, my resolve firm.

"Not at this hour. I told you the truth."

"Then why was I also told to look away, as if whoever you saw would recognize me? Who would that be, if not Raoul?"

"You're beautiful. I didn't want the man to stare at you, then at me."

"I'm not that beautiful to anyone but you... I don't believe you. Let me find out for myself."

"It's too late to go out alone. Wait until morning."

"By morning you could make me a prisoner again, couldn't you? If you're desperate enough. But I know it's Raoul... You think I would run away with him? From my husband, whom I love, you truly think I would leave you? How cruel do you think I am?"

"It's not the vicomte!" He cried. "Go back to bed."

"No... You lied to me," I trembled with the pain of it. "You lied to me again! You would lie to your wife? The woman you love, you would fill her head with lies? Just tell me the truth, this time, or else I will leave, because I'm married to a man who won't give me honesty! Who did you see in town?"

He thought. For a heavy moment, he considered his options. His eyes wrung my heart with pity at his fear that I would leave him.

"It was the vicomte," he whispered, his voice quaking. "I should have known you would be smart enough to figure it out..."

I shook my head, my head reeling from betrayal, "How could you?"

"You said you wouldn't leave if I told you the truth," he told me desperately. "You can't leave now."

"I could never leave. I'm your wife!"

I stormed up into my bedroom and slammed the door. I dissolved into tears on the other side, sobbing into my skirts. He honestly thought I would leave him, enough to make him blatantly lie to me.

For hours, the house was filled with nothing save Erik's music. Then this suddenly ceased, and his footsteps dragged up the stairs towards my door. He knocked.

"Christine?"

I clutched my arms, crossing them tightly. He opened the door a crack.

"Forgive me," he whispered. "There was nothing else to be done, forgive me."

"You should have told me," I replied as he came into the room.

"How could I have?"

"Because you love me."

"I love you, that's why I couldn't bear the thought of you seeking him out-"

"Seek out another man while married?" I retorted. "You must think very little of me."

"I think everything of you!" He said emphatically. "That's why you would leave! What am I? Why would you ever love me? Can't you see me? You were wrong to come here, and the moment you see him, you'll realize it and run away! You are _everything_ to me. I have nothing except for you, nothing! I've never tasted love, and now that I have, I can't go back to living without it, in the dark. I'm afraid of the dark, too, Christine, afraid of being alone with no one. I've never had anyone! The only people who gave me the barest trace of love are dead, and the others never cared what happened to me. You care, or at least pretend to, and if you are, at least let me live that lie! I could have let you go before, but now you've shown me how beautiful the world is, and I can't go back to the way things were. And yet... you must leave me... you must..."

I approached him cautiously, "I won't leave you... but you can't _lie_ to me. I'll never leave you unless I fear for my safety, and I don't anymore... I love you. I do, truly love you... Let me prove it."

"Prove it?" He whispered.

I placed my hand upon his deformity, "I'm going to leave and come back. Tomorrow morning, I'll go see him, explain to him, then return home."

"He won't let you go."

"He respects me."

"Not if he thinks you mad."

My gaze fell, "You're right... But I have to tell him somehow, or else he'll never stop searching. He has to know."

"He wants me dead."

"I'm sure I could reason with him. He thinks you want _him_ dead as well, best not forget that... Let me try. Trust me."

I placed my hands on his. His gaze fell to the floor, so I kissed our clasped hands to bring his eyes back to mine.

"Tomorrow... morning..." he whispered miserably.

He turned to go into his room, and I followed him. He didn't turn me away when I slid into bed with him.

I wrapped my arms about him, and he instantly returned the action, clutching me as if I might disappear. I stared up at the ceiling.

 _Why couldn't Raoul have just believed my note?_


	19. Chapter 19: Decisions

**CHRISTINE**

My eyelids flew open in the middle of the night. It was exhausting to wake up and find Erik in the midst of a nightmare, but as I could easily fall back asleep, and I loved him, I did not mind.

"Erik?" I whispered, nudging his shoulder.

He was whimpering. The dim glow of moonlight reflected the beads of sweat on his forehead. He was never violent in his sleep, but he often whispered and whimpered. Sometimes the whispers had names, other times they were pleas, but often they were incoherent.

I nudged him again when he did not reply. My heart was trembling with his whimpers, welling up with his pain that became mine.

He quieted, his eyes opening. They were filled with fear.

"Are you all right?" I asked him.

"Fine..." he replied.

"What was it about, if you mind telling me? Sometimes talking about fears helps rid us of them."

"They are not fears... not always."

"Were they fears this time?"

He was silent. I slid closer to him, not needing any more coaxing.

"I think we should change the plan for tomorrow," I told him. "It's upsetting you, isn't it?"

"Why shouldn't it upset me?"

"No reason... I thought it might be good for you, but I was mistaken, or at least, it isn't worth it... I want to bring him here, talk to him with the both of us, then you needn't worry about him."

"You're considering... asking him over for _tea_?"

"Not exactly, but that's not a bad idea-"

"Christine, why not simply have me go and pretend to be the character I have assumed?" He offered. "The man disfigured in a fire who lives with his dear wife? I could disguise my voice and myself very well, enough to fool him."

"Fool him? How could I? He's my friend, and regardless, he needs to know he must cease searching for me. I can't have him searching for the rest of his life, when he could settle down quite happily with a woman far better suited to him than I."

"You would choose his happiness over ours. He could turn on us to take you from me."

"No one is _taking_ me." I insisted, indignant. "I will go where I want when I want to. I would like to see Raoul just try to drag me to Paris."

"He may not be reasonable, though. He has been searching for a woman he believes is being held captive, and when he realizes you are well, wouldn't he be upset by the confusion?"

"I imagine he will be distraught, but happy for me being well. I would say he should have believed my note, but... I don't know if _I_ would have, either. He did what he felt was right, and now I must make things right, before he throws away his chances at a happy life for himself. He does not need me as you do."

"You love me more?"

"Erik..." I sighed. "I love you as my husband, Raoul as my friend."

"Do you... miss him?"

"Of course. I miss all my friends..."

He folded his hands in his lap, then he sighed, "You will bring him here, then, I suppose. If he won't be convinced, we'll run away. That seems the only option that contents you."

"Where would we run to?"

"Somewhere in Belgium, or... or perhaps Rouen," he added, pensive.

"Why Rouen?"

"Why not Rouen?"

"Erik, there must be a reason you said that. You added a specific town."

"'Why' is not important."

"Isn't Rouen close to Paris?"

"That will make us less easy to find. They'll expect us to go across the border into Belgium, or perhaps south."

"How can we make up another alias for ourselves, though?"

"Let's hope we don't need to. Perhaps the vicomte will be reasonable."

I glanced down into my lap. He shifted, sitting more solidly upright against the headboard.

"I'm sorry this happened," I told him.

"It's not your fault-"

"But it _is_ ," I insisted, my voice beginning to falter. "I should have told him, or s-something. All I left was a note!"

"Can you go back and change that?"

"No."

"Then why does it matter?... Now, I do not want to see the vicomte. I do not want him in my house. I will take you into town and wait for you on the road. You will return alone, and if not, I will find you and bring you back, as you do wish to be married to me?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then this is our final decision?"

"Yes... I don't think there is a better one, and I agree that perhaps the house is not the best meeting place, nor should you both meet... Thank you."

"What for?"

I shifted closer to him, resting my head on his chest, "For deciding with me, rather than alone. That's what married people do, decide together."

"I thought the husband normally decides."

"Well, the husband makes the decision final, but of course, both members should have a say in the matter, as equals. After all, the basis of marriage is two becoming one, therefore shouldn't they be equal?"

He smiled, almost in amusement, "If that is what you want, I don't mind what our marriage is like."

"Then do I get to do whatever I want?" I teased.

"Within reason."

"Like this?" I whispered, finding his lips with mine.

There was only a moment of bliss before he pushed me away. I slid to the edge of the bed, hurt and bewildered. He inhaled heavily.

"Don't kiss me in bed," he almost pleaded, his entire face pale, even the reddest parts of his deformity.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, flushed with embarrassment. "I wasn't thinking..."

My heart fluttered in a bit of excitement at this knowledge, though, and yet also fear. Why did we need to wait? We were married, and so this was the natural way of things. We both mutually loved and desired each other... What was keeping me from kissing him again?

I could answer my own question, thankfully. I was still frightened of becoming his. I didn't want him to change. He was so wonderful now, and I feared that making love would change that in some way. What would happen from it? More or less trust? Would Erik see me differently? Would it bind the marriage or possibly tear it apart?

He turned over in bed, tucking the bedsheets over his shoulder. I mimicked this action, my heart and head flooded with thoughts and sentiments. When they tired, I fell asleep.

I tumbled in and out of dreams the remainder of the night. In one, I was with child, and laid a big blue egg, like a bird, rather than giving birth. Then I fell into one where I was in Sweden with my father, and he was giving Raoul permission to marry me. I tried to refuse, but I was mute. The one I woke up from, however, was of Erik strangling Raoul. Again, I was mute. I begged Erik to spare him, but his eyes were red and determined, and he heard nothing.

I jerked upright, breathing heavily. The place beside me was crumpled up in a shape larger than my own, but cold.

I slipped out of bed. As soon as my stocking-covered feet hit the floor, the room below erupted in music. I went downstairs eagerly, finding Erik bent over the piano, consumed by the passion of his craft. I watched, unable to look away. My mind slipped from my grasp, and I found myself in a clouded state.

It ended suddenly. Erik turned around to me from the bench as I regained my senses.

"That was incredible," I told him breathlessly.

"It needs work," he replied, his features alight from praise.

"I love it regardless..." I glanced at the clock. " When will you take me?"

His face fell, "After breakfast..."

"Good... I thought I would make some pancakes today, Swedish ones. They're like crepes."

"I'm not hungry."

"Then I'll just make myself porridge," I replied, going into the kitchen to do so.

When it was time for us to leave, Erik fell silent. He did not speak the entire ride into town. I felt like I should ask him if he was all right, but I knew the answer, so I decided against it. He would be all right later.

I found myself suddenly in front of Raoul's room, the journey having run together in my head, until only now was firmly rooted in the present. My hand wavered before the door, hesitant. What should I say first?

"Forgive me, Raoul," I whispered, knocking on it.

It opened to me, revealing Raoul tying a wine-red dressing gown about his waist. He inhaled sharply, his eyes profound.

"C-Christine?" He whispered.

I gave a little nod, "May I come in?"

"Of course, yes, I-I... how are you here?"

I stepped inside, shutting the door behind myself. My fingers wove together.

"I came here," I explained, quite ashamed of myself. "I... thought over what I was going to say, a-and... now I've forgotten... I'm... I'm so sorry, Raoul, for what I did to you, a-and..." I brushed a few tears away, "I didn't... mean to hurt you, I just thought it was the only way, and I didn't think at all about you, and what you thought. I was so caught up in making what I felt was the right choice that I completely n-neglected you, and you must know how sorry I am-"

"What's this about?" He asked, bewildered. "Why are you apologizing?"

"The note was true," I pleaded. "All of it's true. I'm married to him, and I love him."

"You... you loved him all that time?"

"No, no, I loved you, but I couldn't fathom leaving him. And I couldn't be your wife, Raoul, I couldn't do that to you-"

"Couldn't make me the happiest man alive?... I don't believe you. Where is your husband?"

"I'm sorry. I can't let you find him."

"He's a murderer, Christine, and..." He squinted, focusing upon my forehead. His hands clenched into fists. "Is that from him?"

"What?" I touched the place his eyes bore into. "Oh, oh no, of course not. He would never hurt me. I was riding my horse, and I hit a tree."

He shook his head, "No, no, this is a plot. He's making you say all of this, isn't he? Can he hear us here, too, is that why you won't tell me the truth?"

"I _am_ telling you!" I pleaded, my tears returning with a vengeance. "Please forgive me, and please go back to Paris and find a woman who actually deserves you. I want you to be happy, and I knew you could be without me. My decision to go with Erik was... ill-advised."

"It was madness."

"Yes, madness. Sheer madness, but it all turned out all right."

"You're not lying?"

I shook my head, "Not a word."

"I don't... I can't... but why? Why, if you loved me, would you leave me?"

"I couldn't be your wife. Your life isn't made for me. I'm at home out here, without feeling as if I am tearing someone's life apart. You know how people would talk about you marrying me... I thought this was the better option."

"Prove to me that you're happy."

"Prove to you? How would I do that?"

"I don't know, but I need proof. I'm not leaving you here without knowing for sure, and I-I..." He swallowed, raising a trembling hand to his lips. "I-I thought... all this time that you were... in some horrible place, being treated terribly, and yet here you are, well. You look... v-very well. I'm glad... I'm glad..."

"Raoul," I said softly, wrapping my arms about him and resting my head on his shoulder. "I wish I could have told you... I'm sorry that you had to worry over nothing, and... will you forgive me?"

"Always, always... I only... I love you."

I nodded, clinging to him, "I know... I did love you more than anything... You'll find someone, won't you?"

"Who can compare to you?"

My chin quivered, "I'm sorry that you love me so, and I've done this horrible thing to you-"

"It wasn't your fault."

"I'm sure it was-"

"You have a right to choose your husband, and you chose... I was only fearful you had chosen wrong, or been forced to choose. I refuse to blame you for this, but I will forgive you, if you must have me do so."

"Thank you, Raoul..." I separated gently from him. "I never deserved you. I'm sure you will make another woman very happy."

He raised his hand to my cheek, "As long as you are happy, I have no need for anything else... Now prove to me that you _are_ safe and happy here."

I nodded, turning towards the door.

"Follow me," I told him.

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 **As a naive person myself, yes, I would believe Raoul too. But is he actually considering letting her remain with a murderer? What's his plan? Does he even _have_ one?**


	20. Chapter 20: Disbelief

**A bit of cliche drama in this one. Took me a while to get finished, as the logic was a bit tedious, so I threw some out the window (to further the entertainment and drama!)**

 **Also, I hope to finish polishing up a new Icarus chapter soon.**

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 **ERIK**

Christine came out of the inn far too soon. She was unaccompanied, however, as she walked over to me, weaving her fingers together. Her eyes were irritated from crying. Something wasn't right, and that did not surprise me in the least.

"What happened?" I asked her.

"He... he didn't believe me," she replied, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder. "I don't know how to prove to him that I'm happy here."

"You think _I_ can do that?"

"I don't know," she told me, her distress evident. "I didn't know what to do."

"Where is he?"

"He needed to get dressed. He was still in his dressing gown."

"Ah... then I am to convince Monsieur de Chagny that I am a worthy husband for you, when we both know I am not?"

"Please, Erik, I don't know what else to do! Surely you can think of something?"

"Why not invite him to tea?" I offered sarcastically. Then I sighed upon seeing her wet eyes, "I regret it, but you have to talk to him yourself. Don't you know he likely wants to kill me?"

"Kill you? He... he wouldn't... h-he might," she looked towards the inn, and found the vicomte approaching. "He doesn't appear to have a pistol."

"They can be concealed fairly well," I replied, stepping down from the cart. "And now we will attempt to explain why you would ever want to stay with me, hopefully avoiding my death in the process."

She rushed to meet him, likely to be sure he was not armed. They spoke together for a time. I watched, my ears receiving none of their conversation. They spoke with little gesturing, and Christine's eyes showed sorrow. Then she turned to glance at me.

They approached. I was suddenly aware that I had no weapon to protect myself with save words and my own two hands. Christine still fidgeted in unease.

"Good day, monsieur," the Vicomte said, his disgust for me laid bare.

"Good day," I retorted.

Christine glanced between us both, then chimed, "Erik, he wants to see our house."

"And send the police after us?"

"No," the vicomte said, resolute. "I will let you remain here, as long as Christine sends monthly letters, and there are no murders."

I chuckled at the idea of _him_ blackmailing _me_ , "How can I believe you?"

"I love Christine, and if she must have you as her husband, then you will abide by my terms. She has no father or brother to protect her, so I will assume that."

"That's kind of you, Raoul," Christine interjected. "But I'm truly fine. I don't need any protection save my husband's."

"He is a murderer," he replied with disgust. "You need someone besides him to rely upon."

"I need no more than him."

All was silent between us for a moment. How I resisted wringing the boy's neck was beyond me.

"I agree to your terms," I told him calmly, and their eyes both widened. "A letter a month from my wife, and then the promise of my never killing again, which I have already as good as promised to her as well... Are you satisfied, monsieur, or must I give you a tour of our humble abode as well?"

"If you promise not to leave, no," the boy replied.

"Oh, we couldn't leave here," Christine argued. "It's too beautiful, and we have such a lovely home. We even have chickens and a garden, and we used to... have a dog..."

"You would trust my word not to leave?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "But I trust hers."

"We won't," she said hastily. "I love living here far too much to leave."

"But do you love _him_?" He demanded, pointing at me in accusation.

"I love him," she replied quietly, her eyes softening and her hands relaxing to her sides. "I love him and I want to live with him here the rest of my life... I understand you want to protect me, Raoul, but I want to be free to do as I will. If... I am to make terrible choices, maybe I want to suffer their consequences for once. I've never been allowed that, really. And this choice has actually ended wonderfully for me, if you can believe it. I'm truly happy here. I have everything I could ever want... But I don't want your protection now, and I want you to, if you can manage," she shut her eyes in preparation for her words, "forget about us and all of this. We'll remain here like a perfectly normal husband and wife, I promise... Let us be happy, Raoul, please."

He glared at me, "I will... but if you, monsieur, violate any of our agreement, I will have the police after you again."

She nodded for me, "That's understood, yes..." Then she turned to me, "C-could we talk for a while longer?"

I had no choice other than to wave her along. They went away towards the inn, and I began to think of places to run to. Rouen seemed the obvious choice, as my mother could still be alive, but it was a risk. It was too close to Paris. I also did not enjoy the idea of meeting that awful woman again.

We could cross the border into Belgium, of course. I could make quite impressive papers for us to fool almost anyone. That would be the better option as opposed to possibly meeting the woman who cast me into this world.

When Christine returned to me, she was glassy-eyed again. She pulled herself up into the cart beside me and rested her head on my shoulder. A warm tear dripped onto my jacket.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"There was nothing else to be done," I replied as gently as I could manage.

"I wish I could believe that... I feel miserable."

I started us back home. When should I tell her that we needed to leave immediately? The moment the vicomte was out of town, we had to depart for either Rouen or Belgium. From there, I had no idea. Perhaps Christine would enjoy a house on the coast as a final home?

I didn't _want_ to leave, though. I would be leaving the only home I had ever known. Yes, I was happy wherever Christine was, but this was _home_. She loved it out here.

"You're planning on us running away, aren't you?" She said as we stopped in front of the house.

I went down from the cart, "There is nothing else to do. You would live under his blackmail?"

"But don't you see? Now we're protected. He'll keep the police from finding us."

"They would never have found us before."

"I don't want to leave here. Erik, I... i-if I have children, I want them to live out here. It's such a beautiful place, and we've already lived here together for quite some time, and I want to live here for the rest of our lives... Why not stay?"

"Because there is a man controlling us both!" I snapped. "I cannot live like that, Christine!"

"I don't want to leave..." She pleaded, then she shut her eyes in resignation. "I... I will if we must, but please, dear, I don't want to leave."

I sighed, "We'll discuss it later..."

"Discuss it together," she agreed, nodding and smiling weakly, "like husbands and wives are supposed to."

She kissed my lips swiftly before going inside. I could hear a spark of electricity in my soul.

I didn't want to leave, either.

* * *

 **RAOUL**

He had done something to her. I didn't know what, but there was something wrong about the whole situation. I had to get him away from her somehow. I needed to save her from whatever lie he had concocted. How could he be repentant? This was a lie. But how to rid Christine of it?

That answer was simple: a duel. I could challenge the phantom to one. I had been trained well with pistols, and I doubted he would be as thoroughly prepared. He preferred a noose, not a bullet.

What about Christine, though? She couldn't know, and yet she would be distraught if something happened to me, or perhaps him, if she did love him. Of course, she _could_ love him, or at least think she does. She had always been fascinated by his voice and the air he carried about him, but that had been drowned out by fear most of the time. How could that fear have dissipated so swiftly?

My heart was bruised from its ill-treatment. Christine may have not intended to harm me, as I doubt she would ever intend to harm someone, but she had. If she did truly love this man, then my original offer would stand, but I didn't believe her. I couldn't bring myself to believe her.

The following day, I told my driver to wait for me in a town just south of this one. I didn't want Christine and the phantom to know I remained. They had to think I was following through with our agreement.

When they returned to town, in three days at most, I would find a way to challenge Erik, should I observe them not in the throes of love. In that time, they could also try to flee, which I was also prepared for. If they fled, it would not be Christine's choice, as I fully believe she loves it here. She has been moved around far too much in her life and would resist it now with all her might. And so if they fled, I would know he did not truly love her as she deserved.

It was a mere two days until I caught sight of them again. I watched through my window. Christine was in a pale green dress, her hair mostly down and in thick curls. She held the phantom's hand for almost the entire time I saw them.

Her smiles were small and fleeting. She seemed quite melancholy, but also rather attached to the phantom. She kept resting her head on his shoulder as if tired. This distressed me, and I wanted to see the phantom's expressions in comparison to hers. His, however, were concealed by a dark mask that covered his entire face.

The odd thing was, everyone accepted them both. Perhaps it was because they supposedly had a large fortune stored away, which the husband used to pamper his wife with. They all believed the story I had heard from my investigation, that the husband had been in a dreadful fire, and his fiancée had married him regardless. Now they lived together in perfect happiness.

Surely there was sorrow beneath the surface? Could Christine truly want this over what I had to offer her?

Perhaps it was terrible that I wanted this to all be a lie, and yet it had to be one.

They turned to go home after only half an hour. I decided to follow a little ways behind on foot, as their horse was at a calm pace that morning. They seemed in no rush. Why should they be?

I pursued until they stopped in front of a little house. There was a garden beside it that was only beginning to sprout, as well as a chicken coop behind it. There was a stables that seemed freshly repaired, and he guided the horse into this, then helped Christine off the cart.

I was observing from behind a tree. My heart faltered at what I saw. Christine was kissing him as she had me, like she _loved_ him. They were completely entwined, and rather than continue watching in despair, I had to pull my eyes away from the sight.

Once they had gone inside, I waited for the phantom to be alone. The kiss had actually solidified my resolve for the duel, as well as Christine's earlier melancholic air. I knew he would never be a proper husband to her. He had blinded her. This had to be wrong!

It was late at night when I got my chance. He came out of the house just as a candle extinguished upstairs. He glanced up at the sky, then directly at where I hid. The ruined half of his face was illuminated hideously in the moonlight.

"It's late, monsieur," he said simply. "I had hoped Christine's faith in you was well-placed, but I see I am mistaken... I would recommend not shooting me if you want her love, however. She does love me and would be terribly upset if I died... or you."

I stepped out from behind the trees, cocking my pistol, "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing. This is all her doing, and if you refuse to believe her-"

"She's naive-"

"Do not interrupt me," he retorted with cool firmness. "If you refuse to believe her, then you do not love her."

"What do you know of love? How can you possibly offer her what you don't understand?"

His hand quivered at his side, "If you want to discuss her wellbeing, as I know that is what you are referring to, we should find somewhere more private. I don't want her finding us."

"All right," I agreed.

"Put the pistol down, then. At the moment, I am the gentleman. You would kill an unarmed man?"

"I would kill a murderer."

"And how would Christine react to my dead body? Yours I could hide very well, and she need never know, but _mine_... Put the pistol down."

I set it in my pocket.

"On the ground, monsieur," he told me icily. "Both of them, I might add."

"Then you do know why I've come," I said, letting the pistol fall to my side, still clutched in my hand. "I want a duel."

"A duel?" He smirked. "Isn't that illegal, monsieur le vicomte?"

"Murder is illegal."

"Perhaps not all murderers wish to do so, and have found no other way to survive but through it. I have no reason to kill anymore. I would like to live a normal life with my wife, if you can believe me."

"A normal husband does not harm his wife."

"Then I qualify for being a normal husband."

I lifted my pistol again, a tremor running through my arm, "The bruise on her forehead."

"From a branch. She was riding a horse, and in a moment of bliss, she shut her eyes and was hit by one. But why should you believe me? Think of it logically, then. If I were to harm Christine- and I would rather die than do so- my aim would not be for her forehead. For her eye or cheek would be more likely."

"I don't believe you... I want a duel."

"To be honest, I don't want to kill you."

"Why not?"

He chuckled, "Christine would find out. She's quite adept at that, and if she did, I would lose her love... But if we must, where do you propose, and when?"

"Now. I want to end this now, preferably in a clearing, away from here."

"I know a place."

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 **Now what is Erik planning? He wouldn't really kill Raoul and risk Christine's happiness, would he? And will she find out? The suspense! I'm loving this. I haven't even 100% decided what's going to happen yet.**


	21. Chapter 21: Red

**I just want to say that I love Raoul as a canon character, but making him perfect in an E/C fic is incredibly difficult, so he had to suffer from it. He's not a horrible person, though, he's just a bit confused and upset, as well as angry. He's just a mess of emotions with a pistol, and that's a recipe for disaster.**

 **I apologize for the short chapter again. The next few should be more than 3k.**

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 **CHRISTINE**

 _"He never left. He followed us in today from town. Pretend to go to sleep, and I will see how to be rid of him."_

I watched them through the window, my hand parting the curtains. My heart lunged when the pistol moved in Raoul's hands. It would go up and down, threatening my husband, then withdrawing at some logical reasoning on his part.

Erik had told me not to interfere until he looked up at me, then I could come out. I had to trust him. He had told me that Raoul was watching us, when he could have lied to me yet again. He said that Raoul had followed us in from town, and that he had never left, as he did not believe I was safe or that Erik had changed.

I hadn't believed it at first. I had even- I dearly regretted it now- become upset with Erik for saying such a thing, and had been silent for the entire evening. Then I realized how much strength it had taken for him to confide this in me rather than simply tried to mend it on his own, and I promptly apologized to him. He had waved it away like it was nothing, though I knew he was secretly pleased with himself.

As the two men turned around, having decided something or another, Erik cast a glance up at me. That was his sign.

I hurried downstairs, my cheeks burning with all matter of horrible emotions. How could Raoul have tried to kill my husband? _I_ even knew that Raoul would never stand a chance.

I threw open the front door, clutching the edges of my shawl over my nightgown, hoping I appeared as upset as I felt. Raoul spun around, his eyes and mouth falling open upon seeing me. He reddened in shame. Then he turned to Erik, who smirked.

"You think I wouldn't tell my wife that you were here?" he asked.

I took a step forward. That was all it took, a step, then I gave a cry as Raoul pointed his pistol directly at Erik's heart. The tip was practically touching it!

"Don't!" I shrieked, remaining where I was. "I love him, Raoul, I truly do love him! You would kill my husband?"

Erik told me calmly, acting as if his life were not under any threat, "It's all right, my dear, he's not capable of killing a man."

"You would be surprised," Raoul retorted, his features hard. "Tell me now, Christine, what has he done to you?"

I shook my head, "Nothing, nothing at all! He's never hurt me! He loves me!"

"He's manipulated you into thinking that! He's gotten inside your head!"

"Why don't you believe me?" I pleaded. "Have you gone mad, Raoul, that you do not believe me anymore, when you were the only one who _ever_ believed me before? I love Erik! It's not a trick, not at all! I chose all of this, not Erik. And I'm sorry for what I did to you, is that what this is about?" I threw out my arms. "Kill me, then-!"

"Christine, I'm trying to free you!"

"Free me from happiness and love? Take him away from his?"

"You love him?" Raoul asked, his hand steady but his voice trembling. "You love this man, this horrible, heartless man? How?"

"He was only horrible because he didn't know any way to survive besides it! He's not any harm to anyone now! He loves me, he does have a heart, and he wants to be normal and good, as much as he can. Why won't you let him?"

"He can't change, Christine. Are you too naive to understand that?"

"Do not insult my wife," Erik hissed.

"It's all right, dear," I told him. "Put the gun down, Raoul, or I will never forgive you... I was naive before, but this is not naivety. I only have quite a large amount of love and hope, and Erik has proven time and again that he wants to love me in the most profound ways he can."

Raoul hesitated. I took a cautious step in his direction. He was not mad, simply confused and uncomprehending in the face of my decisions.

His hand trembled.

"Please put it down," I begged.

"He can't kill an unarmed man," Erik told me, full of surety.

He reached for the pistol, which Raoul pulled away from his grasp. They both fought over it for a moment, their hands wresting it from each other's, then-

 _Bang!_

There was a scream. At first, I wasn't sure whose it was, but then I realized it had been mine. Erik groaned, his hands trying to staunch the dark liquid draining out of his side. Raoul backed away in horror, the pistol falling onto the grass at his feet.

"Help me!" I shrieked at him, supporting Erik as best I could with my arms and pulling him towards the front door. "Help me, Raoul, before you're a murderer as well!"

Raoul's face was white. He hesitated only a moment before rushing to help me, perhaps in too much shock to comprehend. I shouted at him to find bandages and medicine, which were in cabinets in the kitchen. He went to do so as I pulled Erik onto the carpet.

I tore off the stained fabric and cringed at the sight. The flesh at the side of his waist had torn from the bullet, which had cut through entirely. The gash was horrifying to look at. It looked like death!

Erik was calm in the midst of it, but his face drained of color. His breaths were growing steadily more labored. Raoul prepared a heavy dose of laudanum as I realized I would have to stitch up my husband's wound. Blood already coated my hands and fingers, making them slick.

Once we had drugged Erik, I prepared my needle and thread. What else was there to use? I had to lick the frayed edge four times before I could manage to get it through the eye. Then I looked down at what I needed to mend, preparing my mind.

Pretend like it's just his jacket, like before. Only his jacket. No flesh, no blood, just black cloth... just black cloth...

Necessity propelled me more than this idea. I managed to patch up the wound, pulling the flesh together like fabric. I had to pretend it was only fabric.

Once it was complete, I found my mind dissolving, and I fainted from the metallic scent of blood.

Upon waking, I found that Raoul had wrapped bandages taut around Erik's waist. Erik lay on the carpet, his eyes shut in laudanum-induced slumber.

"I'm so sorry," Raoul pleaded upon realizing I was awake, helping me into a chair and falling to my feet. "It went so fast, and... I didn't know who to believe, or what to do, or if he might kill me-"

"You should have believed me," I replied coldly, still trembling all over. "I need to... w-wash my hands."

I rose and headed to do so. I pumped a bit of water into a bucket and rolled a bar of soap between my palms. The blood flaked off, turning the liquid red in swirls. It was almost entrancing.

After I finished cleaning myself off, I was violently ill for a moment, then I returned to the living room. Erik stirred, his eyelids heavy as they opened to find me.

"Christine..." he said softly. "Are you all right?"

"Am _I_ all right?" I retorted.

"You had to bind my wound, and I... expect you were not elated by that prospect... You... shouldn't have had to do that."

"I would have done anything," I glanced down at his hands, which were stained as mine had been. "L-let me get a cloth for you-"

"Why is he here?" He demanded, almost growling as he realized Raoul had not left.

I glanced over at Raoul, who swayed where he stood from being addressed. I could feel his regret and shame by simply looking at him.

"He helped," I replied.

"You'll never see me again," Raoul told us, resolute. "I promise... only... I fear my chauffeur may have alerted the police, or may eventually."

"Damn," Erik murmured. "We'll need to leave tomorrow, Christine-"

"Not with you like this," I replied, placing my hand on his forehead and running my thumb across it.

"I-I can delay them," Raoul offered. "I'll let you two run away, and I won't pursue... I've done enough, and... what I saw, last night... You are an extremely fortunate man," he told Erik.

"I feel fortunate," Erik retorted sarcastically.

"To be loved by Christine, I mean, a-and forgiven by her..." He looked at me, pain in his eyes. "Forgive me, Christine, I... I don't believe you can, but-"

"It was an accident," I replied blankly, my heart frozen in comparison to my words. "A dreadful accident when you were trying to protect me."

Raoul nodded, "I should have left before, I should have-... I'll leave now, and I promise never to see you again."

My lips parted to reply, but he left before I could think of one. I believed him this time.

"He's honest," I told Erik.

"Yes, I don't believe I'll have to see him again."

"I won't-... I promise not to talk about him from now on. I wouldn't be able to now, not after he almost... I don't want to think of it."

He nodded, "We'll need to leave for Rouen tomorrow morning."

"You'll be well enough?"

"You can drive the cart if needed."

"What about the house? A-and the chickens?"

"I'll let them out, but there's no time to sell the house."

"What about...?" I fidgeted, "money, Erik?"

"We'll be fine... if necessary, I'll return to sell the house somehow... You're not supposed to worry about money."

"It's a valid concern."

"I didn't say that it wasn't, simply that it wasn't your concern."

I sighed with a bit of irritation, then said, "Rouen, then... Is that a city?"

"The city is Rouen, but the surrounding area is farmland, where I expect you would prefer to live. The Seine flows through it, and it's not too far from the sea."

"Then we'll have to go to the sea sometime," I offered, feigning happiness as my eyes welled up. "I thought... I-I might..."

"You thought I would die?" he asked, curious. "That you wouldn't see me again? I would consider it an insult to be murdered by that boy... and you are quite the surgeon. I was in capable hands."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I hadn't thought you able to perform such a feat, and I was sorely mistaken."

"If it had been another, you might not have been... H-how did I do, though?"

"I haven't looked, but it feels decent."

I glanced down at his rusty hands, then stood up, "I meant to help clean those off for you, let me get a towel."

I went into the kitchen, inhaling and exhaling to calm myself. Erik was fine now, perfectly fine... if the wound didn't get infected... if I had done a good enough job...

The bucket of water nearly slipped out of my hands as I went into the living room. He had managed to pull himself onto the sofa, and lay there in fatigue.

"Let me," I asked, extending my hands for one of his.

"I can wash my own hands-"

"I don't mind."

I offered my hands anew, and he obliged me his. The soap dissolved the dried blood, and I dried each hand individually after, taking great care with him. I waited for him to say something, perhaps in amusement at how odd this was, but he was silent. He lay on the sofa, passively accepting my care.

When this was finished, I smiled at him weakly.

"You're going to be all right, yes?" I asked.

"I hope so... I had better look at the wound, though, in case I need to tend to it as well."

"I'll untie the bandages for you... Do you want me to remove your shirt, if it's more comfor-?"

"No. No need... I can untie the bandages like this. Would you bring me a bit more laudanum, and perhaps the medicines I keep in the cellar?"

"And cloths and water at all?"

"That could be helpful."

"Then it will be done," I replied, bending down to kiss his lips before retrieving them.

I couldn't bear to see the wound now. I had mended him in a moment of fear and desperation, but now the sight of blood made my head lighten again. How strange it is that women seem to have more of a reaction to blood than men! Then again, when does the world ever make sense?

As I sat staring out the window, trying to avoid the sight of Erik examining his own almost-fatal wound, he began to compliment my work. I nodded in reply, growing faint. He wrapped fresh bandages around himself and pulled his torn shirt over them.

"Do you want a change of clothes?" I asked him.

"That may be a good idea," he said. "I'll pull myself upstairs-"

"You will remain where you are," I retorted.

"My nurse is now my captor."

"You could have died, Erik!" I cried, the full reality of it settling upon my heart. "W-what if you had? What if you will now? These sorts of things can get i-infected and rupture a-and-"

"Christine, my dear, there's no point in worrying. I'm sure it will heal up nicely... another mark to bear," he added under his breath.

I attempted to regain my composure, but ended up sobbing over him as he patted my head in an attempt to console me.

"I'm not dead," he told me softly.

"What if you were?" I whispered through tears.

"But I'm not."

I nodded, sniffling, "You're not... you're right, I-I... I only know... what it is to lose someone dear... and I can't lose you, t-too."

"I've never..." he whispered, trailing off.

"Never what?"

"Had someone die that I cared about... and I hope that never happens."

"I don't want to talk about death anymore," I told him, twisting the the fabric of my skirt in my hand. "It hurts too much to think of."

"At least you believe in heaven."

"Yes... at least there's that... I-I'm going to get you a change of clothes now," I told him, rising from the sofa.

"You'll have to help me upstairs, then-"

"No, just stay down here. Why can't you change here? It's only us two... I'll close my eyes, if I must, but I might need to help you if you're still weak."

"Close your eyes," he chuckled. "What a strange marriage we have."

"It'll be real soon... Well, it is real, but..." I blushed.

"I assume 'soon' means years-"

"How long will your wound take to heal?" I asked, my heart fluttering in my chest.

"My wound?" He mouthed, then he glanced down at it, almost dazed. "A month, perhaps, for it to be fully healed. Maybe a week before I can not worry about reopening it from exertion... Why do you ask?"

"I... would like to."

"Would like to...?"

"When you're better, I mean, o-or later, but I... think soon. I'm only a little afraid of it."

"Afraid?"

"I don't want to discuss it at the moment," I told him, my face already aflame.

"We have nothing better to discuss."

"I don't want to right now," I insisted, then asked before he could pry further, "Have you... had something like this before? I'm only curious-"

"I have, but not from a bullet. I'm decorated with them."

"May I see?"

"May you see?" he repeated, sounding bitter. "I would prefer not."

"Are you ashamed of them-?"

"I would prefer not to speak of them," he retorted sharply.

"I'm sorry... I'll go get your clothes-"

I turned around, and he grabbed my wrist. I looked at him. His lips parted, searching for the words he required.

"Thank you," he told me. "You saved my life... I have _profound_ respect for you."

"And love?" I smiled timidly.

"Yes, love... more than anything."

"And I you, Erik."


	22. Chapter 22: Molto Crescendo

**Upping the romance this chapter, my goodness. But don't worry! There are plenty of burns as well ;) T-rating is now applicable, I think!**

 **(3 notes at the bottom)**

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 **ERIK (all Erik this chapter)**

Christine coddled me the entire day. She refused to have me so much as sit up, save to eat, and she insisted upon reading and singing with me, then kissing me at intervals. Even without my composing, the house was not silent. She rambled on about one thing or another or made endless conversation.

Perhaps being shot in the side was not so terrible if this was what came after. I hardly noticed any pain.

Later, I had her pack the belongings she could not leave behind, as well as mine. She had precious few she actually deemed necessary.

"Oh, what about the dress we were having made?" She offered as she she set her bag by the door.

"They may have it ready by now," I replied. "We will have to go into town tomorrow regardless, so we can check."

"Will we be traveling with our same cart?"

"If Hazel can walk that far unaided, but we may need to buy another horse."

"We _wouldn't_ need to," she added, smiling. Then she waved away her words, "It's fine, if we have the money for-?"

"Why are you obsessed with our finances?"

Her face fell. "I'm not obsessed. I only wish to know. I've taken care of my own most of my life that I needed to, and it's odd for me to blindly accept that we have all we need, without knowing an amount."

"Then you shall have one: two million. Are you satisfied?"

Her eyes went wide.

"Two... two _million_?" She asked, bewildered. "Where are you keeping two million francs? Regardless of you practically stealing them from the managers-"

"Oh, that was amusing, wasn't it?"

"A... a little, but it wasn't necessary."

"I felt it was... But yes, we have around that much at the moment. I simply gathered it up over the years from various forms of 'employment' and have had hardly anything to do with it."

"Two million," she mouthed again, shaking her head in stupefaction.

"That is why I was rather upset when you refused to be doted on."

"I never thought... that much..."

I chuckled, ignoring the sharp pain at my side when I did this.

"Well, in that case, I suppose I don't have to worry," she told me. "I'm going to make a sack of all my other possessions that I can't leave behind. I see no reason not to fill the cart."

"Hazel's strength."

"Of course, how silly of me. Only my favorites, then... It's your fault, you know, that this is difficult. You've bought me far too many things. But I hate to leave them behind."

"When we arrive in Rouen, I'll let you replace everything you need... and maybe some more after that."

"I don't know if I like the idea of having so much money," she whispered. "It's strange..."

"Better than being poor."

"Not always, if one has love."

"Why not have both?"

She beamed, "Why not?... I'm going to make dinner now, I think. What would you like? We weren't able to buy meat today, but I could make soup. Potato or onion?"

"Onion, unless you want the other."

"I asked you," she replied. "Do you need anything else before I busy myself with dinner?"

"I'm perfectly fine, my dear."

"No kisses?"

"I... would not decline."

"You can ask for kisses whenever you like. I quite enjoy giving them- don't you sit up, I'll come to you."

She met her lips to mine, lingering long enough for the coals in my stomach to burn. I brought up a hand behind her head, and hers she placed upon my face, caressing the marred flesh as if that would dissolve its flaws. I trembled. I could do little but tremble when she offered me such affection as this. The kiss turned desirous. My need for her swelled within me, causing me to draw her closer. The pain in my side had vanished.

Neither of us wanted to breathe; that would mean releasing the other. For even one second, the thought was unthinkable. I saw nothing but Christine. Even when my eyes were shut, as they mostly were, the vision of her remained. I felt nothing but the softness of her hand against my face. I heard nought but her sharp little gasps for breath, her minuscule moments of hesitation. I tasted nothing but her lips.

When she released me, she stared directly into my eyes. Her breaths were warm and fast upon my face. My chest rose and fell with mine.

She backed away as if embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed and she pulled a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I-I'll make dinner now," she told me.

She headed into the kitchen. The wound was once again painful.

I attempted to force myself not to be hopeful yet again. She may enjoy kissing me, which I have also found immensely satisfying and simply incredible, but she would certainly shy away from actually binding our marriage. It could be an entire year before she acquiesced, though at least I knew she now would.

She _had_ hinted earlier that she was considering it once I was well. She had more than hinted, but even if she tried to go through with it, likely she would back away multiple times. I had to prepare myself for her rejection. And what of my body? This worthless form was nothing compared to hers. Why would she want to be a part of me?

She loves me. She loves me, she has said so countless times, why is it so difficult to believe? She loves me! She does, she must!

What of my scars? What would she say of those? Does she expect perfection regardless of my face? She must expect that... Even in darkness she could feel it, reel and leave my side...

She loves me. I simply kept repeating that phrase to myself. She loves me for me, yet what am I compared to her? It was too confusing to think of, and it upset me greatly to consider how far below Christine I was, yet I was taking her lips as I were worthy of them.

"Dinner's almost ready," she informed me from the dining room, drying her hands with a towel. Her features had gone back to pale and lightly freckled. "I'll just eat with you like earlier."

"I love you," I told her.

She smiled, "I love you, too."

She went to retrieve two bowls of soup and a plate of bread and cheese. Then she sat down beside me on the sofa so that I wouldn't need to stand. After eating, we read for a time, though finding a comfortable position was difficult. We ended up with my head in her lap, which I had thought might hurt my pride, but I found it wonderful.

She read to me until she grew tired, then we curled up together where we were. I took some time to join her in sleep, which I spent watching her in wonder.

A mere two months ago I would never have thought such a thing possible. I hadn't known I could be happy, or more importantly, that Christine could be happy with me. Now it was abundantly clear. Undeniable.

The following morning, Christine and I prepared the cart. She was mostly silent, which upset me. She always had something to say. Why was she not asking about Rouen? Lamenting our moving?

I almost wished she would cry. An emotionless Christine was unheard of.

"Are you...?" I offered, "all right, my love?"

Her features brightened from my address.

"I'm just sad," she replied simply.

"We'll find a home just as good as this one."

"This was our first home is all. And we planted the garden and... But I don't need a perfect home as long as it has you in it." Her lips trembled. "Two days ago I thought I wouldn't... have you... and I... can't lose someone else I love."

"You didn't lose me, my dear."

She set her head on my chest, making every attempt to keep her eyes dry.

"One day I will," she whispered. "People have a tendency to die whenever... I don't know if I can go through it again, though, without dying as well."

"You doubt yourself. You're much stronger than you think."

She smiled weakly, "You think so?"

"You stitched me back together, Christine. I have evidence on my body of your strength."

"Well you, Erik, are surprisingly gifted at comforting me," she said, shutting her eyes for a moment on my chest. Then she sat up and brushed away her tears. "We ought to get going."

We started towards Rouen. The journey took an entire week, as Christine refused to replace Hazel. We procured another to aid her, but it made little difference.

I hoped beyond my reach for our nights in inn-rooms to stray, but Christine would collapse onto the bed at the end of the day and fall asleep instantly. Perhaps an inn was not the best location, though, and my wound was still mending.

Christine, in that time, became far more daring. Gone were her chaste kisses and retreats due to uncertainty. She even had the audacity to say one morning that it didn't matter if we saw each other dress, though I insisted upon it. She simply shrugged her shoulders as if she didn't care what we did.

I _would_ have looked, had I not feared that it would only increase my frustration. The more Christine became desirous herself, the more difficult it was to bottle up my hopes; and I feared that if I let myself go too much, I might pressure her into acquiescing, which was the exact opposite of what I wanted. I wanted her to want _me_ , which seemed surprisingly likely now.

Every time I looked at her, though, into those radiant eyes of hers, I could see my worthlessness reflected in full force. She was everything. Compared to me, she was _perfect_. I could write an entire book simply describing her magnificence. I could list them now, in my head, never ceasing. She was kind, courageous, infinitely beautiful, selfless, devoted- and I could also describe her in great detail, such as the way her eyes soften when they come to rest upon something she loved. This often reassured me, as her eyes always softened when she looked at me... Unless she was angry, then it was best if I hid away for a while. I usually deserved her anger, though. In fact, I couldn't think of a time I hadn't...

On the last day, as we had finally reached the hilly countryside of Rouen, Christine decided that was the moment she wanted to bring up the topic of children again. I had no time to prepare myself.

"You _do_ know that making love and making a baby are one and the same, yes?" She asked me, as we had been often discussing the topic in vague terms.

"There are... ways to avoid the latter," I replied.

"I'm fully aware of the ways. I was surrounded by dancers and chorus girls who would not see their careers destroyed by an accidental child... What if I refuse to use the ways?"

"Then I'll lock myself in the cellar if necessary."

"I'm just trying to say that... I don't _mind_ if we have child."

"I do."

"Well, I also mean... it's not your decision, or mine. God decides babies. We could try every option to avoid one and still one could occur."

"But we can't have a child, Christine!" I snapped at her. "How many times must I tell you? We can't raise another like me in this world! Perhaps you would be the perfect mother, but the world would never accept this child. You would bring someone into that?"

"You don't know that, and don't shout at me. Anyone can have a child who's different... But if we do, I would _never_ allow him to endure what you have. He would be loved. That's all a person needs, really: love."

"No. One has to survive first, therefore working is required. Where would he work? No one would accept him-"

"If we raise him openly in Rouen, so that everyone knew him as a sweet little boy, or girl, don't you think they might see past? And... though I detest the thought of a mask, if necessary to preserve his dignity, then he could wear one. I'm sure, when he's old enough, that a woman would see past any physical flaws as well. I'm not the only woman who can, you know."

"It's too much of a risk."

She set her features, folding her hands on her knee, "Then you are not invited to my bed until you change your mind. I would... be willing to prevent a child, but you must accept the possibility of one before I even _think_ of making love with you... I trust you know I am resolute on the matter."

That I did. We were silent for hours, deeply involved with our own thoughts.

 _"You are not invited to my bed until you change your mind."_

That was my choice, then? She had openly said that the moment I accepted the fact that a child could be conceived, that I would support it, then I was welcome to her. I had no doubt in my mind that she was telling the truth. It was very much like her to say something like that.

She was right, though; there was not a perfect prevention. There was no way to stop a child from growing inside her, possibly destroying her in the process. What if I was left without her, and instead with a miniature version of myself?

The thought was too horrible, and yet the thought of having a cold bed the rest of my life was just as distressing. How could I choose?

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

I turned to her in wonder. The sun had touched the horizon in our silence.

"I know it must be hard to hear it," she said, "but we have to accept it, and I promise, I will love a child if one is conceived of ours."

"What preventions do you know?" I asked.

Her face fell further, "A sad amount... but I fear... I fear I can't do them."

"Why not?"

"They're shameful. I don't think I could bear it."

"Would you rather have ten children?"

"No, I just-"

"You want abstinence?"

"N-... no. I don't. I want... not abstinence... But what if it's a sin?"

I shut my eyes in irritation, "It's not a sin to limit the production of children. Wouldn't you consider it a sin to have too many mouths to feed and not enough to feed them? Which is worse?"

"You think so? You think it's all right?"

"Why do you think some married couples can manage to have only two or three children? I would be surprised if most do not utilize some tactic. It's not a sin, and if it is, it still doesn't matter..." I felt my blood begin to simmer, "Are you _trying_ to have a child? Is this desire for me an act?"

Her immediate reaction told me that it was not. Her mouth opened in horrified disbelief, and mine shut in regret.

"How could you think that?" She demanded. "That doesn't even make sense!"

"You changing your mind everyday about having a child or not doesn't make sense!"

"I change my mind because I love you!"

"Because you love me?"

She nodded, "Of course! I didn't want a child before because I didn't fully love you. But now I both want a child because I love you, and I can't want a child because I love you! You don't want a child, so I can't have one, though you know very well you wouldn't be able to resist me regardless of what I say! I... I want a child, though, I want one with you because I _love_ you."

"You could die," I offered.

"I could die right now. You could, too. That's not a valid concern-"

"But it would be my fault," I argued, my voice giving way.

Her eyes softened in sympathy, "I know... I understand why you wouldn't want one... It's just difficult for me."

"We could," I cringed at the thought of a child at all, "adopt."

"Well, yes, that would be nice, but I would prefer a child made of _our_ love."

"Not yet," I insisted. "Please, Christine, for... for this year, don't try for one. You may change your mind."

"And next year, I don't have to prevent it?"

"You don't, no."

She nodded, "All right... I think I can manage that... W-when should we? I'll need to procure a few things before, and prepare myself a little... I'm nervous," she offered, her voice trembling a little. "I'm so nervous."

My voice came out almost hoarse, "Nervous?"

"Well, I've... never done it before, and... there are so many things to worry about-"

"What to worry about?"

"Silly things, mostly, all silly... I think I'm ready, though- we are, I mean. Don't we trust each other enough for this now?"

I didn't feel like trust had anything to do with it, but I agreed with her. She exhaled.

"Are you going to set a date for it?" I asked, though the idea was laughable.

"Once we get settled in somewhere... I think it had better come naturally, though. It seems a bit odd to schedule... In a week, maybe."

She fidgeted with the reins, pensive.

"You said before," I told her, "that you were afraid of consummating our marriage."

She gave a light shrug her shoulders, "It's just natural fear, I suppose."

"Natural fear? Of what?"

"I..." Her gaze fell.

"Discomfort?"

"No, no, I know how to avoid that from accidental eavesdropping, I only... You're... You're just so much..." She struggled to speak her mind, which alarmed me. She was always candid. "You're stronger than me."

She glanced at me with pain in her eyes. I sat back on the bench to think on her words.

"Then you don't trust me enough," I told her, barely concealing my anger.

"I do-"

"No. You do not."

She stared down at the gravel road, her eyes glossy.

"I do want to," she offered. "I truly do... I just have all these silly fears that I _know_ are silly, yet I can't be rid of them... I'm sorry-"

"You're afraid of me?"

"Erik, no, I love you-"

"I love you too, Christine!" I declared before I could restrain myself. "I love you in every way and it hurts that I cannot love you in all of them! This is not a selfish need of mine. I want our marriage to be real, I want your trust, I want... Oh, Christine, I want you."

I waited in trepidation for her reaction. I shouldn't have said that. There was a difference in both of us simply knowing it, then blatantly confirming its existence. Yes, I wanted her. I had wanted her all this time, yet only now did it seem the feeling was at least _becoming_ mutual.

She looked at me, her face bright red.

"I've been reading the Bible," she told me.

Lord have mercy, where was she headed with this? After I had just thrown my heart at her feet, she goes into the book of contained passions?

"Have you ever read Song of Songs?" She asked.

"No," I replied curtly.

"It... talks about desire. About love. It talks about it being good, in a way. It's a poem King Solomon wrote about one of his lovers and him... That's why I've been a bit more open lately to the idea of desire being good in a marriage. I mean, it's in the Bible, then it must be fine."

"There is desire... in the _Bible_?"

"I was as surprised as you are. I didn't know that chapter existed until now. I've always focused on the later parts... But yes, I suppose because it's good, I think... I _know_ that I also... I-I want you, too."

"You do?" I whispered. "Truly?"

"I wouldn't... kiss you how I've been doing if I didn't, would I?"

She smiled away her uncertainty.

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 **In defense of my choice to move them:** **Christine has said all along that she enjoys where she _lives_ , not just Erik. By moving with him to a new place it shows that she loves him now more than the other stuff. Yes, it's sad, but the meaning is significant (while also opening up another fun adventure! Romance!)**

 **According to sources, Erik earned about $800,000-$1,000,000 a year based on 240,000 francs per year, just FYI. That is not including possible money he made otherwhere not by extortion.**

 **Icarus is deleted for now, but will return in a few months. I am going to be far more busy than even now and I don't have room in my mind for two E/C fics going at once.**


	23. Chapter 23: Rouen

**We've got three problems/tensions in this chapter. Christine's got a pretty okay handle on things, but Erik... not so much. When does he ever?**

 **Note: this will not go to M, and any descriptions of intimacy will be either "fade to black" or described in a flowery Victorian-esque way. Just wanted to reiterate that.**

 **Please review!**

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 **CHRISTINE**

We arrived at the edge of the city. Rouen reminded me of a smaller version of Paris, with a thinner flow of people and shorter buildings. These were still packed tight together, though, as cities do to house more people with the same amount of room.

Erik had Hazel and the other horse (whom I had named Cleo and who had a coat a shade darker) placed in a stables for the night. We found an inn and procured a room.

I was suddenly nervous. Erik knew we were not consummating the marriage tonight, yes? I... would not mind, but I would prefer to be in our own house first. And I didn't want anyone to _hear_ or _know._

He seemed to understand. We were both exhausted anyway, so I didn't know why I was concerned. We both undressed as we had done before, facing opposite sides of the room. Then we slipped into bed beside each other. What a strange married couple we were! In fact, I felt our marriage would only truly be real once it was consummated. I wanted a real marriage now.

We lay beside each other, on our backs, staring up at the ceiling. I wanted to rest my head on his chest, but I was wary of physical contact now that we both understood our mutual feelings. At least his wound remained.

I almost laughed aloud. His wound was keeping me from giving in, though yes, I was afraid. I wished I were not, but I was. Perhaps it was good fear, though. It could be simply nerves as well. This was quite the large step we were going to take.

When I woke the following morning, I found Erik curiously absent. I put on my pale green dress and made my hair look half-decent, then went downstairs to find him.

"Would you like breakfast, madame?" A young girl asked from the desk beside the front door.

I glanced at the rows of room keys behind her head, "Yes, have you seen my husband, though?"

"The man in the mask, I believe?"

"Yes."

"He went out early this morning. He left your room key with me, if you want it."

"Why did he leave?"

"I'm not one to pry into the private lives of my occupants, madame. I did not see where he went."

I saw no reason to wait for him. He was likely procuring a house for us.

"Then I would like breakfast regardless," I told her.

"Coffee or tea?" she asked, procuring a little yellow notepad.

"Tea, please."

"And a baguette with jam is fine?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I'll have it ready in a moment."

I went to sit beside the window peering out onto the street. There was only a trickle of people in the morning. There would likely be more later in the day. It was interesting to watch through a window, observing and unobserved. I found it an enjoyable pass time.

A few other people came down for breakfast: a man and his wife, a young girl and her father, then a young man that seemed to be some sort of student; he had a pile of books on his table. They all ignored each other respectfully, though I was becoming lonely and wished one would address me.

Where was Erik?

My answer came a mere moment later. He stepped through the door and his eyes found mine just as he had turned to ask for the key. He came over to sit with me.

The young girl whispered to her father, staring at us both with hungry eyes. I found it a nuisance, but Erik didn't notice. Perhaps he was used to it. The people in town had not been as judgmental, I felt.

"Where were you?" I asked, taking a sip of tea.

"Asking about," he replied simply.

"For a house?"

He hesitated, "Yes... a house."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing..." He took a swift glance at the people around us. "I'll tell you when we're alone."

I nodded in understanding, hastening to finish my breakfast. When we entered our room, Erik removed his mask. The blood had drained from his face.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"She's alive," he replied, almost visibly shuddering. "Oh g**, she's alive, Christine!"

"Who? Who is?"

"My mother..." He ran a hand across his forehead. "She's not dead... But she's blind," he chuckled bitterly. "She's blind now! I asked about her, carefully, and I regret knowing! I wish she were dead, that she had been for a while now, and was no more than bones, but she lives! The wretched woman lives!"

"You're not going to..." I dropped my voice to a whisper, in case others could hear nearby, "kill her, a-are you?"

"I'm never killing again... but that doesn't mean I would very much like to see her dead. I told you _nothing_ about her," he was almost growling with hatred. "I barely scratched the surface with my descriptions to you."

"Then we shouldn't be here. Why are we here?"

"I didn't know where else to go... and I want a bit of revenge, I suppose."

"Revenge?"

"My inheritance. I want what should have been mine all along. My older brothers are dead, so naturally it should go to me."

"Do you have a younger, though?"

"He is south. I will pretend to be him, and you'll be my wife. I assume my mother will be fooled easily."

"What sort of inheritance?" I asked, skeptical.

"Money, I expect, then an old house built for a large and wealthy family, which I will sell-"

"We don't need any more money, though, nor a house full of awful memories. Just forget her."

"I need something to take from them," he replied, desperate to make me understand. "They took everything from me, and I'm being merciful for not murdering those remaining... And am I harming anyone by this?"

"Not... exactly, but-"

"Then we're going there now. Come along."

"Erik, you're being ridiculous."

"Excuse me?"

"I meant what I said. There is no reason for this."

"You're not qualified to say that. You don't know what I've been through."

I sighed in irritation, "No. I do not... But I do know that you are quick to anger and can be volatile. I don't want you anywhere near someone you want to kill."

"I did well enough with _him_ , didn't I?"

"That's different. He never hurt you- directly."

"This woman deserves to die."

"I hate to say this, Erik, but according to many people, you do too. And moreover, I deserve to die! Everyone on this earth deserves to die. We've all done horrible things, some more than others, but regardless, you would be seeking revenge you are not justified for."

"What do you mean, you deserve to die?"

"I've sinned."

"Christine, dear-"

"Don't, Erik _dear_. No, I have not killed someone, but I'm not perfect... I'm only trying to say that you cannot pronounce judgment on another person."

He raised his forefinger at me to emphasize his words, "Then you go speak to her for an afternoon and _you_ see what judgment she deserves."

"Oh, so you are allowed to be forgiven, and she is not?"

"That woman is the reason I killed!"

"She may have caused it, but please, you cannot judge her after years not knowing her-"

"You want me to forgive her?" He accused wildly. "Is that what you're implying? Honestly, Christine, what has gotten into you?"

"That's not what I'm saying! Well, it is, but I doubt you have the strength to do such a thing, nor should you at the moment. I'm only saying that I don't want to be here... I want to find another home for us, away from this mother of yours, away from my former life, and we can live together just how we were... Please?"

He shook his head lightly, then said again, "You don't understand, Christine. I don't believe that you can. You're too pure."

My mouth fell open in outrage, and I saw the flash in his eyes of immediate regret. Instead of railing at him, however, I said softly:

"You don't want what we had?"

"That's not what I said," he replied. "We can have that, certainly- right now, even- but Christine, my dear, at least then let me be waiting for her to die naturally, and I will take what belongs to me when she is gone."

I shook my head, "I don't agree with it. I can't."

"You don't have to. I can do as I please."

"But we're supposed to do things together," I argued, "like _married_ people."

"Then understand that this woman is more of a monster than I ever was!" He snapped, though in a heavy whisper due to surrounding rooms. "Do you know what she did to me, Christine? She loathed me so much that she _watched_ my brothers hurt me, she _encouraged_ them. She wished I were dead! I had no one save my father, and he only had some interest in me because he was a professor, and I was a genius! But he didn't protect me, no one did! This woman would have killed me had she not feared soiling her hands with blood. The names she called me! I forgot what my original one was, how many they came up with, until I replied to each as if it _were_ mine! This woman locked me in the cellar even when I begged her that I was afraid of the dark, and punishment for what? Nothing! Perhaps I had fought back, perhaps I had damaged something, but it was always because she simply couldn't stand looking at me. Even with a rough-fabric mask that left burns on my face, I could not win the _slightest_ bit of affection! She destroyed everything I tried to do correctly! Yes, I want her dead! It's only because I love you that she is not this very instant. Is it wrong for me to want this tiny bit of revenge, when it is my right to have? Is it even revenge? I am not hurting her, when I should! I am taking only half of what is my right!"

I began to cry. I found the lapels of his jacket and clung to them as I wept into him. He wrapped an arm about me, bewildered, and when I did not shrug him off, he wrapped another. I felt the weight of his head on mine.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry about a-all of that... but I only want... t-to forget now... about... h-her, about... e-everything..."

"I won't mention her again," he told me. "When I hear she is dead, I will collect my due, and we will forget."

I could do nothing but acquiesce. He would not be moved on this; why would he be? At least the earlier plan of lying about being his brother was dead. We had compromised a little.

Once I had finished crying, we spent a wonderful amount of time kissing, just there, in the center of the little inn-room. It soothed my distress immensely. As we made little hums of contentment, entwined together, I gently separated from him, and his eyes darted to my neck. Then they returned to meet my gaze, but I had noticed. My throat was suddenly aflame.

"We should go," I managed out, my voice oddly faint.

He nodded. He reached down to pick up our bags, and we headed out to our cart. I went to get the horses from the stables.

There was something to be adored about little towns. They seem far more accepting of, for example, a woman on her own, or a person who looks different. Cities or larger ones like this, however, have strict social guidelines. The man whom I spoke to about my horses gave a swift glance behind me, as if he was expecting my husband to be there. I found this odd, as don't many women own horses? I supposed it was considered her husband's, regardless, and I found myself a little ruffled by it. But then, I consider myself rather forward-thinking.

He did permit me Hazel and Cleo, though, and the former rested her nose on my arm, hopeful for a treat. I patted her.

"We may have some apples in the cart, dearie," I whispered.

She continued nudging. I brought them over to Erik. We hitched them to the cart, then I gave them each their rewards. I smiled up at Erik as I brushed off my hands.

"Are we ready?" I asked.

He patted the spot beside him on the seat, "I think so."

"Where are we headed?"

"Just a little ways down the road."

I stepped up beside him, "I didn't ask earlier, how is your wound?"

"Tolerable. I'm being careful with it still, but it doesn't pain me."

"That's good. I've been worried you're hiding any pain from me is all."

He shrugged. We rolled down the way for ten minutes or so. The city was quite large for what I had been expecting. For a while, we went beside the Seine. It was the only river in France that I knew, but it seemed the only one of much importance, though it was a rather ugly thing, gloomy most days save when the sun reflects off the gray surface.

To think that this same water flowed through Paris...

"Here we are, I believe," he informed me, stopping the cart and starting to step down from it.

"This is for-?"

"Buying the house, of course," he said as he searched for our forged papers in the back. "I'll see what there is. Wait here."

I nodded, leaning back on the wooden seat. I exhaled heavily.

"The sky is so bleak," I whispered to myself, staring up at it. "Looks like rain."

Erik emerged after some time, immediately coming back up into the cart with a deed in his hand.

"It's not secluded as the last one was," he informed me, "but it is almost an hour away."

"In a forest?" I asked.

"In a way. There are mostly vineyards around, so a lot of the land is cleared- no, we are not getting a vineyard-"

"Of course not, Erik, that's too much work. A little garden is much more manageable... I miss our chickens, too."

"I hear many people own ducks here."

"Ducks? Oh, that would be fun. And don't they lay eggs like chickens?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Christine, but we can eat them just as well as chickens if not."

"I don't know if I could kill a _duck_ , though."

"Why not?"

"Well, they're just..." I searched for the reason.

"Cuter?"

"Yes, I think so. That's it."

"Then I'll kill them for you when necessary."

"I- thank you, I suppose."

We chatted for quite some time about nothing in particular, and we had an entire hour to entertain ourselves. We had to ask directions a few times, but everyone was quite happy to help, save that they liked to stare. How had I not noticed that so much in the other town?

Erik and I dissolved into song without our knowing. I taught him a Swedish folk song, and we sang it together contentedly. It was remarkable how well our voices suited each other. I shut my eyes in the bliss of it.

"Here we are," Erik told me, interrupting us far too soon. "I think."

It was a little two-floored cottage. The roof was thatched, the windows outlined in dark brown wood. Worn stone stairs led up to the door, and a mossy path led to these. The bushes out front were overgrown, but budding purple. Vines snaked up one side of the house.

"I love it," I told Erik.

"We haven't even been inside. This is only temporary until I confirm, as well."

"I just have a feeling."

As we stepped through the front door, I couldn't help but let my mind wander. Imagine having a child here! I couldn't help but smile at the thought. I could hear little footsteps, a little voice singing...

The cottage was small, as they are inclined to be. The kitchen and dining room were one, and the study was more of a closet, next to a little bathroom. The living room was large, devoid of a piano (which I knew would be quickly remedied). The floor was wood planks coated in a few places with dust-ridden carpets.

There were three bedrooms upstairs, which delighted me, and as Erik was not an idiot, he realized why I was so happy with the house.

"You're thinking of children again," he whispered.

My face fell, "Well, isn't this the perfect place for one? Or two?"

" _Two_?" he asked, bewildered. "You want two little things roaming around, needing food and attention, and they have such annoying voices, using such poor French-"

"And they ask questions about the world, and we can read them books, teach them music, love them-"

"Children are not romantic beings; they are pests."

"Since when did you hate children so? Are you only worried they'll hurt us?"

He waved away my words, "I don't want to discuss children anymore."

"We made an agreement, though."

"To _prevent_ children."

"But then we agreed that I was at liberty to decline next year," I argued, trembling with hurt.

"You are," he said hoarsely.

"Erik-"

"I don't want to discuss it!" He cried, leaving the room in great distress.

His footsteps echoed down the stairs. I glanced at the bedroom furnished with dust, and my lip trembled. My imagination of pastel walls and a little white cradle had fractured back into reality.

No, I didn't think Erik would ever allow a child, regardless of what I wanted. He was too afraid of what could happen.

It would have to be a happy accident.


	24. Chapter 24: Forte

**Fluff and passion, yay! And angst, too. All the good stuff.**

 **Also, did a bit of research on Erik's healing time (for obvious reasons) and with stitches he should supposedly be good for most things in a week, though it's not *entirely* advisable. Good thing about fanfics is that logistics aren't all that important! (Note: their journey took ~5-6 days, so it's a week since the incident).**

 **We're also getting a bit more of Erik's "trauma effects," poor thing, but he's working through it the more he confides in Christine.**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **CHRISTINE**

We spent the afternoon silently dusting the house from top to bottom. It was coated with gray, but once we had beaten the rugs and curtains outside, the colors returned. They were quite lovely colors, too, and I found no need to replace them. The curtains were a dark green, the armchairs a faded red, and all else followed in the typical fashion of a house. Unfortunately, quite a lot needed to be replaced, as it had been devoured by something or another or simply worn out from use.

Erik and I were tense all throughout our work, though. I had dared to hope before that tonight might be our first night of marriage (though a cautious one, due to his wound), but that hope had certainly flown away.

I finally addressed him as we sat on the sofa, lying back on the cushions, exhausted from tending to the house.

"Erik?" I asked.

He turned to me, his lips parting, "Yes, my dear?"

"I don't like having things between us."

"You think _I_ do?" He replied, facing ahead and folding his hands.

"Of course not... I'm just sorry for presuming things I should not have."

He shook his head, "We've made our agreement, and I will abide by its terms." He changed the subject. "I need to go buy sheets for the beds, as well as a new mattress. And you said you saw a mouse?"

"You forget my shriek so easily?"

He restrained a chuckle, "Then I need to procure a cat as well, I think... Do you want to stay here or come with me?"

"I think it would be more productive if I stayed here. I need to finish up the laundry."

His face fell a little. "Then I'll go alone... I'll be back in a few hours."

He stood up, and I followed him over to the coat hanger that held his black mask and his jacket.

"I love you," I told him.

He turned to me, mask in hand. "I love you, too."

I placed my hand upon the mottled flesh of his cheek, and he shut his eyes at the sensation. I smiled weakly.

"No kiss goodbye?" I whispered.

He tilted up my chin with strange confidence, and our lips melded together before I could gasp in surprise at his surety. The mask clattered to the floor. My pulse swelled, and I could feel myself warming from my core in ribbons to the rest of me, draining to the tips of my fingers. It was similar to the sensation of drinking hot tea in the winter, if such a simple pleasure could be compared to the intensity of this one.

I wrapped my arms about him, suddenly realizing that he was beginning to push me back further and further, bit by bit. I kept taking little steps until I found myself against the wall. My heart pounded in my ears. I didn't want this feeling to ever dissipate. I wanted to be enveloped by this warm love for the rest of my life, just here, with Erik and nothing else. There was no time for words between us, nothing to taint what we both simply _felt_.

I was quite trapped, though. I found myself barely able to breathe between kisses, and Erik was pushing me quite firmly into the wall so that my lungs could only expand to pant. He seemed to be attempting to fuse our bodies together like this. Then, to my surprise, his lips left mine. I gasped for air, my chest rising and falling against his, and I felt him- gingerly- nudge my neck with closed lips. I suddenly found that I did not like being pinned against the wall, and was also lucid enough to know that I was all that could stop him, regardless of the consequences: his wound and my not having made any precautions. He wasn't thinking of those, only of me, and I only of him!

After I had not made any sound of discontent from his trepidatious action, he seemed to think that meant he could continue, and I wanted him to, terribly. Our pulses were deafening. The air around us had grown hot and stagnant, but rather than cool me as lips normally did, his kisses were fervent against my skin. They ran down and up my neck, even to the heart of it, gently and delicately, still with a bit of restraint should I pull away. As his hand tugged at the fabric hiding my shoulder from him, I squirmed and pushed against his chest. It took him a moment to realize that I was actually trying to stop him, and eyes flew open once in the knowledge of this. He pulled away instantly. I fell to the floor like a rag doll, my face burning.

I was still making an attempt to regain my breath and composure as Erik slipped on his mask, opened the door, and went outside. It slammed shut behind him.

My knees were weak. I trembled upward to my feet, dragging myself out the front door.

"E-Erik, I'm not..." I managed between breaths, "a-angry at you, I... only knew we should... stop."

He ignored me as he hitched the horses to the cart, his chest rising and falling just has rapidly as mine still was.

"Your wound," I offered. "I didn't want to... open it, o-or anything else... I didn't want you to... regret."

I took a few hesitant steps towards him. He continued in his work, but I realized his hands were trembling.

"Erik?" I whispered, extending my hand to his arm. He pulled it away like my palm was red-hot. "Do you need a bit of time to yourself?"

His eyes finally met mine through the black mask. I found them filled to the brim with fear, fear and desire, the former curiously overwhelming the latter.

What was he afraid of?

"I love you," I insisted, my eyes straining to keep from filling. "Please, understand that I love you."

"I love you..." he replied, staring down at the grass, "so much that it hurts."

My lips parted as I began to dissect the meaning of this. He pulled himself up onto the cart, and I let him go. He needed to cool down a bit, that was all. He would be much better upon his return.

I exhaled as I slipped back inside the house. My eyes widened that very instant in realization of my own naivety.

Of course he was afraid! He wanted me, yet he could not have me without being the most intimate someone could be with another. How could he reveal himself like that? Why should he not fear my rejection? Whatever fortifications he had erected around himself had to fall away completely. There would be no protection for him once we were one. I had thought I needed full trust in him, when truthfully it mattered more that he had full trust in _me_.

Whatever fears I had been distressing myself over vanished. He needed to feel safe with me. He needed to know I wouldn't reject him, that I was honest, that I wanted to be his, and for him to be mine. I truly wanted that, now that I realized his fear of intimacy far more than I had before. He might appear stronger than I was, but inside he was still rebuilding to fit this new way of life.

After all this time, I finally realized that I had far more power over him than I could ever have guessed, and yet I wished it were not so, or at least, not like this.

* * *

 **ERIK**

I had almost lost myself, _almost_. I had never been so terrified in all my life, yet I wanted her to know me, all of me. How could I, though? Yes, she knew quite a lot about my past, but it felt like, if I gave in, that she would be able to sift through my memories and realize her mistake in ever loving me.

Loving me... Yes, she did love me. I believed it now, but I did not believe it stable. She would fall out of her inexplainable love for me once she knew everything. I knew she could not read _minds_ , yet I felt I would be unable to stop myself from letting her know everything.

I had never trusted someone before. It was an odd sensation, expecting someone to keep promises or be honest. She succeeded time and again, but I couldn't force myself to believe her at her word. I could _pretend_ , but within I had no faith that she would follow through.

What about our agreement? Would she deceive me into thinking she was abiding by our terms, while secretly hoping for a child, and moreover, trying for one?

I knew that Christine would never do such a thing and yet... yet I did not know! How I wished I could completely trust her and know she was always honest, as she was primarily, yet my mind could not wrap itself about the concept. Years and years of lies and deceit had ruined me for her. Did she not see that I was incapable of giving her the husband she deserved? She needed a sanctuary, where as I ran to her for shelter far more often. She needed someone who would trust and respect her, and though I wanted to with all of my being, I could not give her those in the way she should have them. Above all else, though, she could not have a child from me. I had been honest when I told her I would lock myself in a cellar if there was no other way to resist her. I had been honest.

I loved her so much that it hurt me to do so, because I knew I would never be enough.

I spent my evening in agony, and I arrived to our new home after dark, cursing myself brutally for being so late. Had she eaten yet? We had barely any food in the house save a few vegetables and a stale baguette. Was she starving? Was she angry at me? She ought to be furious. She would yell at me, perhaps, berate me for my carelessness. My memories and my present swirled together, indistinguishable.

I unhitched the cart hurriedly, finding myself quite afraid of Christine. Would she still love me even if my errands had taken me longer than they should have? What if she didn't love me? Could her love run out as easily as everyone else's?

The front door opened, and she came running out, her curls streaming behind her. She wrapped her arms about my middle. I let out a slight hiss of pain, and she released me.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I was only excited to see you is all... I-Is it okay?"

"It's fine," I replied, nearly sighing in relief. She loved me yet. I felt so stupid for doubting her.

"I made a broth with the vegetables we had," she told me as she removed my mask. "I hoped you would buy chicken or something like that to add."

"I actually did buy chicken."

"We know each other's minds," she said delightedly, then she glanced at the cart. "What all _did_ you buy?"

"Bedsheets, blankets, a new armchair, a few books, wine, and food, of course."

"Did you forget the cat?"

"Damn it," I muttered.

"It's fine, don't worry. I'll help you bring it all inside; the broth is just sitting for now." She went to pick up a stack of blankets, which hid all but her eyes and the top of her head when in her arms. "I thought we could do something fun tonight- not _that_ thing, as I don't think it's advisable if you're still hurting, nor do I have any... preventions yet."

I nodded in understanding as we went inside, smiling a bit in amusement at her. We set down our things in the living room. Christine had made a nest of pillows before the fire, and she smiled at me as she gestured to it. There were lit candles on the coffee table, which she had pushed to the side.

"I thought it might be romantic, and warm," she told me. "It's been looking like rain all day."

"You think it will be comfortable enough?" I asked.

She shrugged, "If not, we can go onto the sofa... I just thought it might be fun, what with needing new mattresses for the beds, and-"

"It's nice."

"Oh, good then... Let's go get some more. I've been waiting on blankets and such to finish it."

I put my hand out to stop her from going outside. "I can get it all myself."

"I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"My wound has healed up well. I'm perfectly fine so long as I am not embraced with unrestrained enthusiasm."

"Are you sure?"

"I know wounds, my dear."

"All right, then... But don't try to bring it all in at once or anything like that. I don't like to see you in pain any more than you do me."

She kissed my cheek, then went to arranging the nest of pillows and blankets by the fire. She hummed to herself, and for a moment I was transfixed by the sound. My mind slipped. I forgot what I was supposed to do. The firelight made her features glow, and the gloss of her curls danced with the flames. She glanced at me, perplexed at why I remained.

"Are you all right?" she asked, standing up with a pillow clasped in her arms.

"I..." I managed out, her intoxicating voice still echoing in my ears.

"Is it too much for you?" she said, gesturing to the blankets. "We can sleep separately if we need to-"

"No, no, I'll be fine."

"It's your judgement," she told me simply, returning to singing and fixing up our temporary bed.

I wasn't going to be fine by any means, but I could feign it quite well, as I had countless times before.

Once I had brought everything in, Christine finished up dinner and we ate together. Then she slipped into her nightgown and we sat on the pillows with glasses of wine and a plate of a few cheeses I had bought. She was being quite playful, and had me pour her one more glass than she would normally have. She was by no means drunk, but certainly a bit less restrained than usual. Then again, she was a candid person by nature.

We talked about a few random topics, but nothing that would raise tensions between us. I was quite delighted by it, as I made her fall over laughing at one instant. I couldn't even remember what I had said, but I wished I could because I wanted to know how to make her laugh like that again.

"Oh, do you know any jokes?" she asked as she sat back upright, rubbing her eyes.

"A few," I replied. "I've not taken to memorizing them, as they are not that amusing when repeated to oneself in darkness."

Her face fell. "I'm sorry. Did I offend you?"

"Offend me? Why would you say that?"

"I- never mind. Tell me a joke."

I thought for a moment. "When is a door not a door?"

"Oh, I feel like I've heard this one, but I can't remember the answer. When, Erik?"

"When it is a jar," I replied quietly.

She squinted for a moment, then her features widened in delight, and she laughed politely, "Oh, I love that one. My turn, I think, then... All right, Erik, what's the difference between an apple and a spoon?"

I shrugged. She blinked in sudden confusion.

"I just forgot the answer," she whispered.

I chuckled, "It'll come to you."

She nodded, beaming, "It's nice to sit and laugh."

"It is," I replied softly.

We were silent for a moment. I gestured to the plate of cheeses.

"How was the Camembert?" I asked.

"Good. It's one of the only French cheeses that I like... I'm quite fond of goat cheese, actually."

"I'll buy some next time."

She nodded, then looked me up and down.

"Do you want to change?" She asked.

"For bed?" I replied.

She nudged one of my waistcoat buttons with her fingertip, "You can't be comfortable wearing these stiff clothes all day... Why do you never wear a dressing gown, and only change into pants and a shirt for bed?"

"I enjoy wearing these clothes," I told her simply.

She tilted her lips, "Would you at least _try_ wearing a dressing gown? Just in the evenings. I feel like you're always tense, and it might help."

"I'm fine."

"Would you at least try? One night, then you can go back if you hate it."

I sighed, "One night."

She smiled, "Thank you, dear... Could I undo your waistcoat, then? Is that all right?"

"I can," I replied, unbuttoning it before she could.

"Do you like cuddling? I've never asked you, really."

"I... enjoy it immensely."

"I do too. I was only worried that..." she waved away her words. "I don't know what I was worried about."

"That after so many years of being harmed, gentle touch is foreign to me," I whispered, setting aside my waistcoat.

Her lips parted, "Yes... I thought that might be."

"It is foreign, but..."

"I understand- I think..." She glanced out the window as a few raindrops pitter-pattered on the glass. "Do you want to sing with me or anything? I know we don't have the piano yet, but-"

"May I sing to you?"

She turned her lovely eyes up to meet mine. Then she smiled, "Sing me to sleep?"

"If you are not... opposed."

"Opposition is furthest from my mind," she said with a dulcet tone, placing her head on my chest.

Her curls fanned about her head, still glowing from candle and firelight. She shut her eyes and exhaled. I nearly shuddered at the sensation of her breath on me, then realized that I was indeed uncontrollably trembling in both my hands. I rested them on her head and arm, and they stilled.

As I began to sing, she relaxed entirely into me. I found it difficult to concentrate on words and notes, but fortunately I knew them well enough that I could let my mind wander as I did so. I could recollect every perfect profession of love I had ever heard from others, every way to be affectionate that I had found in books and observation, everything was there, in my mind, caged entirely. There were so many ways I wished to love her, yet I could not find a way to use them.

As she drifted away from the sound of my voice, I found that music was our love. Sonnets and speeches may do for others, but this was ours.

I ceased singing once I knew she was fully asleep. I found lying with her there, on my chest, while being in front of the fire, was as comfortable as I imagined heaven should be like, if there was one. Christine deserved a heaven like this. It even crossed my mind that this was perhaps the happiest I had ever been at that very moment.

I stared into the flames and held Christine for a couple hours before I began to doze off to the steady pulse of rain and thunder outside. It was at that very moment that the perfection of the night was shattered, as she began to whimper. I first thought it must be the little coos she makes in the night, but my blood froze when I realized she was distressed by some nightmare. Before I could stop myself, I had shaken her rather violently back into reality. Her chest rose and fell as her eyelids opened, and I was breathing as heavily as her.

"I'm sorry," she said first, rubbing her forehead. "It was just a dream-"

"You're all right?" I asked, placing my hand on her cheek.

She held it there, her eyes glossy. Then she exhaled.

"Your wound was infected," she whispered. "C-could I see, please? To reassure myself?"

"Of course, yes."

I pulled up my shirt only enough to reveal the black thread stitched into me. The new skin was unblemished, and she exhaled in relief upon seeing it.

"Thank heaven," she whispered as I pushed my shirt back down. Then she began to cry regardless, soaking me through with her tears as she clung to me.

"What's wrong?" I pleaded. "I'm all right, I'm all right, and you are, quite all right."

"I can't help... thinking a-about... dying, Erik, what if you... what if you had? I fear dying, I do... Not myself, o-others... leaving me for somewhere e-else... And with my father, there was heaven, and with you there's..." her voice quavered. "I can't think about it without becoming l-like this."

"I'm not dead," I told her, as I had no other consolation. "I'm perfectly well."

She nodded, "I know... I only wish I..." She pressed her face into my chest.

For a time, we remained just like that. I would have enjoyed being so close, with her holding onto me, but I couldn't possibly be happy now. I kept pleading in my mind for her to cease crying and end my misery. I had no words of comfort; I knew none.

She turned her eyes up to meet mine, her eyes that were still draining tears, and her lips found the corner of my mouth. I was so surprised by her sudden change that I stiffened. She kissed me fully, patient to take as long as was necessary to melt and overtake me. I placed a hand in her curls, another on her waist, and I gasped as she placed a trembling leg around me. I was not sure if she was aware of what this action meant for me, and I nearly pushed her off, but I found myself unable to. Her hands burned wherever they touched: on my chest, my arms, and my ruined face. I feared we both might burst into bright tongues of flame, but we remained wonderfully human. The kisses were endless, building and building, until, as always, she backed away from the precipice. She always backed away.

"I love you, Erik," she whispered.

Then she went back to sleeping beside me as if nothing had happened.


	25. Chapter 25: Delirium

**ERIK**

Christine behaved oddly the following day. She kissed me at every available instant, save for when we were in public, but even then she squeezed my hand and rested her head against my arm. Her attitude was not unwanted by any means, only strange to me. All of this was _still_ so strange, even after two months of it.

"I want to buy you a dressing gown today," she told me as we walked through the city.

"Why are you so adamant about that?" I asked, glad that she was with me now. It was awful to go out alone and be treated as less; with Christine, people saw me as an equal.

"I'm adamant because I want you to be relaxed at night," she said, with meaning. "I doubt you've ever been relaxed before now, and you deserve to know what it is to be safe and let your guard down."

"I deserve nothing," I replied simply.

"No one does."

A gentleman wearing a particularly tall hat glanced at Christine for far too long. That was the one difficulty amidst being accepted. The stares were directed at her instead of me, as she wore her best dresses when out and managed to put her hair up in ringlets to further enhance her loveliness.

"Your grip, Erik," Christine murmured to me just before we had reached the men's clothing store.

"Forgive me," I replied, realizing that I was indeed holding her arm far too tightly, as if that would keep away wandering eyes.

Were they jealous of me? Those gentlemen, did they see Christine smiling on my arm and, by any chance, wish they were me? I had never felt that before. Perhaps I was being ridiculous. Why would anyone want to be me? I certainly didn't want to be; I wanted to be so much more, for Christine's sake. She deserved more, in every way.

"Which color?" she asked me.

I shook myself out of my thoughts, glancing at the assortment of robes on white mannequins. A few men in the store found Christine either curious for assisting her husband, or they were admiring her beauty. I felt a surge of both anger and pride. The latter I did not deserve; I had earned nothing from Christine, only been given everything.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, noticing my unfocused eyes.

"The dark green," I said.

She nodded, glancing at the quilted one the color of a pine tree, "I think you would look handsome in a dark green, yes."

The hairs on my neck stood on end. Handsome? Had she said that word in reference to _me?_

"I think you're not well today," she remarked. "Let's buy this, then maybe sit down at a cafe for a little while?"

"Yes," I replied, my head spinning with that one remarkable word. I had heard wrong, surely. Absolutely.

We walked down to a little cafe wedged between two shops, one selling parasols, the other hats. I offered, my mind still rattled, to buy her one of each, as she was fair, firstly, and secondly, all women wore both in summer. She agreed with enthusiasm.

"But what's wrong?" she asked of me, intertwining my hand in hers from over the table.

"Much," I replied.

"What kind of much?"

"Nothing."

She smiled weakly, "You just said much... Won't you tell me?"

"Later."

"What if you forget?"

"I won't forget, my dear."

She nodded, "All right..." Then she glanced down at her menu. "What do you want to eat?"

"My mask," I reminded her.

"I don't think that would taste very good."

I laughed before I could restrain myself, and took a glance around before replying, "No, of course not. I can't eat with it _on_."

"No one would notice. They won't watch."

"You're rather beautiful, Christine."

"Rather?"

"Exceptionally, and that combined with my mask leads to twice as much curiosity."

She folded her hands in her lap. "If you're not comfortable eating here, then I won't ask again... I think I'll just get some soup."

"You have a fondness for soup."

"Most of my childhood was that or pickled fish... or both."

"I'm glad you have a more refined palate now."

"Who says pickled herring is not refined?"

"Christine, my dear, it's awful."

"I quite like it. When did you try it again?"

"In Russia."

"Maybe Sweden is a better place for it..." She lowered her voice to a whisper, "If we ever have to run again, could we stay there? Just for a little while is all."

"I don't speak Swedish."

"I can translate."

"I don't want to be translated."

"You're ashamed to be dependent on your wife, you mean?"

"I'm not one for dependence."

"But you would learn quickly," she insisted. "You know that. You're a genius."

"Christine, I've been so many places, everywhere in Asia and Europe, and I don't want to leave France now, nor ever again. The rest of the world is no better than here, so why go anywhere else? It's exhausting."

"You don't understand. I'm being selfish."

"Selfish? You?"

She nodded, " _I_ want to go to Sweden if we must run again. Only if we must, though. It would make _me_ happy."

"Then..." I sighed. "I don't think we'll need to run again, but even so, I don't want to make any more promises I can't keep about it."

She smiled, "That's good enough for me."

She knew she had me wrapped around her finger. I could see the knowledge glittering in her lovely eyes.

Once her soup had been ordered and eaten, she requested to go shopping on her own.

"But you said you wanted a hat and parasol," I told her, trying to hide my disappointment. "That I would accompany you."

"Oh, I forgot, yes," she said, with a bit of nervousness. "But before that, I need to go buy a few things, and I would prefer to go alone."

Alone? What with all these handsome gentlemen about? In a city she didn't know?

"Where would you go?" I asked.

She gestured down from where we had come, "There. We'll meet at the hat shop, all right? Ooh, surprise me with something, would you?"

"How far down the way?"

"Just barely out of sight... It's all right, Erik dear. If my promise of love for you is not enough, remember that infidelity is strictly forbidden in my religion."

"That doesn't stop most."

"Trust me, please. I'm not stupid."

 _That is up for debate, as you married me._

"No, you are not," I told her firmly. Then I sighed, "How many francs do you need?"

She colored, "A hundred."

My eyes widened, "What on earth do you need with a hundred francs?"

"It's a surprise... I want to buy it with my own money, though, for you."

"There's no need-"

"There is very much a need," she took my hand in hers, smiling gently to melt my resolve.

I pulled out the notes, and she slipped away. I watched her go, then turned towards the hat shop.

 _"Surprise me."_

A bell rang as I entered the shop, which reeked of lavender combined with the various perfumes of customers. The woman at the desk stared at me for only a moment before brightening.

"How may I help you, monsieur?" she asked. "We just received a shipment from Paris for the summer, the latest fashion, for your... wife, is it?"

"Yes..." I replied stiffly. "She has a coral dress for the summer."

"Let me show you the ones we have in that color, and one is from the Paris collection I was speaking of."

She seemed to think she was a remarkable salesperson, but it didn't matter what she said. I examined the quality of a fine coral hat with faux pink roses atop it, and found it suitable. Christine would look beautiful in anything, but I hoped in this one especially.

As I finished, Christine came into the shop with two small bags. Her cheeks were curiously flushed. She glanced down at the mint-green hat box I was holding.

"Thank you," she beamed. "Could we look at parasols now, then head home?"

"We still need a mattress."

"After that, then."

She looped her arm through mine as if there was nothing she wanted to do more. It was far more intimate than holding hands. All married couples held hands, most of the time, but lovers linked arms. My chest grew warm at the thought.

Buying a parasol was simple: all of them looked identical. Christine selected a less expensive model, but said it was her preferred choice, so I had no reason to buy something of more worth. She had it resting on her shoulder the rest of the time we walked, her arm still linked with mine.

We headed home after purchasing a mattress, and Christine also insisted on a bottle of champagne "just in case." I didn't know what she meant, but her surprises were always lovely.

It began to fully settle in my mind that tonight could be the night. As we rolled past vineyards and endless wooden fences, I couldn't help but hope through my fears. I wanted to be Christine's, entirely. She had such a symbolic view of the act, and it was remarkable how much it would mean to her. I wanted every part of that meaning. I wanted to be hers, and for her to be mine.

I could not omit the fact that she grew lovelier by the day, and she was becoming too much for me to bear. She was too wonderful. If I needed to bottle up every emotion I felt until I imploded, I would, but I hoped she would not force me to do that. After all, she had said that she wanted me as well. I doubted she felt the same as I did at the mere touch of her hand, but whatever she did feel was incredible to me.

We had a simple dinner together, then she insisted I get out my violin and play to accompany her. Her voice was that of a Siren, but my music intoxicated her in the same way. She had her eyes shut and the corners of her lips turned up. Her perfect lips...

The piece finished. She had colored brightly from it.

"I-I want to get dressed," she informed me. "In my nightgown, then I'll come back down."

I nodded, preemptive disappointment rooting my feet to the floor. The violin fell to my side as she shuffled upstairs.

I waited on the sofa for her. I waited a full ten minutes before I called for her, "Christine?"

"Just a moment," she replied through her closed door.

I ran my palms over my knees. Perhaps she was having trouble with her dress.

Another five minutes.

"Christine?" I called again.

Silence. I headed upstairs, confused. I knocked on her door.

"Come in," she told me, her voice rather airy.

Come in? What did that mean? What was she doing?

I pushed open the door, slowly, and found her sitting at the edge of the bed- our new bed- in her nightgown. She kicked her stockinged feet nervously where she sat. In her lap was a little black box.

She patted the spot beside her, "Come sit with me, Erik."

My mind had spiraled out of control from all the possibilities before me. What was she planning?

"This is what I bought for you," she whispered, handing the box to me.

I took it, glancing at her eyes for a clue. There were none. I pulled open the box to find a dark velvet lining, and nestled within it, a simple gold band.

"I haven't made a fuss about it," she said, apologetic. "I should have, but I think now is a good time to give you a ring as well."

"Now?" I whispered, removing it and testing its weight in my palm.

"I know we've moved rather... fast lately, but... I don't think there's a point in waiting anymore. I've already prepared all my preventions and such, so we're... well, we're ready, I think."

"You want to consummate the marriage... now?"

She nodded, fidgeting with her hands in her lap, "I do... But I... Have you done this before?"

I felt inclined to laugh, but did not.

"No, I have not," I told her. "And you?"

"No... Are you nervous?"

I could barely hear her, as simply her name and the image of her were bursting in my mind like fireworks.

"I hope you are, then we're both on level footing," she said. "Oh, but is your wound all right?"

"Fine," I replied faintly.

"Oh, good... What do we do first, then?"

That was a good question that made me lucid for a moment. Where do we start?

"I love you," I told her.

She smiled, "I love you, too."

I shifted toward her, my trembling hands finding her waist and trailing up her side. She swallowed.

"Could you promise me something first?" she asked.

"Anything," I replied, falling into my daze again.

"You said before that it wouldn't hurt, that everyone was lying."

My vision cleared, "They were not lying. Their men were simply uninformed and likely didn't care, whereas I do."

"So you... know a lot?"

"Too much."

"At least you can use your knowledge now."

I nodded.

"I love you," she said again.

She caressed my deformity with utmost tenderness, and melted beneath her touch. She slipped the cold ring onto my finger. It was a size too large, but this was soon forgotten, as once her lips met mine, the world dissolved into flaming colors.

* * *

 **CHRISTINE**

I awoke to find Erik sitting up in bed beside me, not touching. He was in his usual night wear- pants and a buttoned shirt- which he had put on, it seemed, after I had fallen asleep. I would have been disappointed, but I was still lightheaded with delight.

"I had the strangest dream," Erik told me as I sat up.

He exhaled shakily as the covers fell from my chest, and I could feel myself blushing all over.

"It wasn't a dream," I informed him, smiling shyly.

He stared at me for a moment as if unable to comprehend. Then he brightened.

"We're married," he whispered.

"Very much so."

He gave a little laugh that somehow turned into sobbing. He kept repeating about how wonderful I was, over and over, among other things that were so heavily interlaced with tears that they were indistinguishable. Once he had run dry, we lied there together for quite some time. We made no conversation, no noises save a few little hums and sighs of contentment, but it was wonderful. We both seemed to know each other well enough now that we didn't need words.

"What time is it?" Erik asked as he ran a hand through my hair.

"Mm, I don't want to know," I replied, shutting my eyes.

"We have things to do."

"What things?" I murmured.

"We should go into the city again."

I whimpered playfully, "I don't want to leave here ever again."

"We'll need to eat eventually."

"You'll have to drag me. I truly meant it: I never want to leave here."

"Then I'll get up and bring you food."

"That defeats the purpose. The only reason I want to be here is you."

"Isn't the bed nice?" he offered, patting the mattress.

"Without you, no."

He placed his hand on my cheek, stroking the surface, "Without you, I would have nothing."

I nudged him, "I feel the same."

"No. You could live if I died."

"I don't want to bring that up-"

"I have _nothing_ save you," he insisted, holding my face firmly so that I would understand he was serious. "Nothing. This world is an endless ocean and you are my only refuge."

"That was very poetic, Erik dear... I will always be here for you."

"You can't promise that," he said, his hand falling to his side.

"And yet here I am, promising it," I smiled, leaning onto his chest and exhaling. "I may make many promises I cannot keep today, but I dearly hope I can keep this one..."

He went back to petting my hair, now pensive. Eventually my stomach murmured and he immediately decided lunch was in order. We found out that it was twelve o'clock, but time didn't matter anymore. It hardly existed. We were drunk on love. I had never understood that expression before, but now it fit perfectly.

I was playful with him the entire day. We decided not to go into the city, as we had enough for the day, and instead spent our time with whatever we wanted to do. I teased him, cautiously, and he replied in kind. He was more dazed than I was, still taking in what had happened, taking in reality. He kept interrupting me to say that he loved me, and I replied that I did, too. We kissed far too many times to count, and once we were so delirious that we were overcome. We didn't address the fact that neither had used any form of prevention, but once couldn't hurt. Erik didn't even seem to care. Rationale and reality were gone; we lived in our own world away from time and responsibility. We behaved childishly with no repercussions. We popped open a bottle of champagne for no good reason. We drowned in kisses and stifling affection.

Oh, I felt free! Freer than I had ever been! I could scarcely imagine the joy Erik was feeling, as mine was overpowering for me. What he was experiencing would likely bring me to my knees if I could trade hearts with him.

At the end of the day, when we fell into bed again, we were too exhausted by happiness to indulge ourselves again. We intertwined beneath the covers and fell asleep immediately.

I wondered how long our bliss would last before, inevitably, something came along to shatter it. I only wanted one more day. One more day like this.


	26. Chapter 26: Hypocrisy

**Writing this** **chapter was MISERABLE! I deleted ten half-finished rough drafts on accident, ten! So now here's what I did in one evening. I'm so proud of Erik in this one... in the end. And bravo to Christine, too.**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **ERIK**

 _It was dark. Too dark. Had Christine shut the curtains that tightly?_

 _I pushed the covers off myself and slipped out of bed as quietly as I could so as not to disturb her. I shuffled over to the window to see if it was morning yet, but upon throwing them open, the pitch black remained._

 _Perplexed, I placed my hand upon the surface of the mirror. It was stone! Cold and rough, not glass at all!_

 _I went to light a match, my lungs taut with panic. Each time I struck one, it extinguished immediately. I gave a cry of exasperation, and at last a candle was lit._

 _"Christine?" I called, coming over to where she lay beneath the covers._

 _She did not stir. My pulse grew heavy in my veins._

 _"Christine?" I whispered, dragging the covers from her brown curls._

 _Two glass eyes greeted me, set in porcelain. The doll fell to the floor._

I woke in a cold sweat, panting in the night air. The sun hadn't yet risen.

"Christine?" I called, unable to restrain myself. I pulled the covers off of her.

"Mnh, what is it?" she replied, tugging them back over her shoulders. "Something wrong?"

She opened her eyes tiredly, barely to slivers. I stroked her hair.

"Nothing, nothing," I whispered.

She yawned, "A nightmare?"

"No, no."

"Then why did you wake me?"

"I-"

"I'll forgive you if you sing me back to sleep," she said, smiling as she turned on her side.

"You would forgive me anyway."

"Of course... but you would deny me a song?"

"Which would you like?"

"Mmm, a lullaby."

"Do you mind if it's in Russian?"

"Russian? Why in Russian?"

"Because I can't sing any in French."

"Did you never... learn them?"

"No... I learned them... but not in the way I should have."

Her eyes focused, "I'm sorry I brought that up-"

I interrupted her with my voice in the most dulcet tones I could create, and her eyes glazed over with sleep again. She rested her head on my chest and sighed into the fabric of my nightshirt.

Perhaps nightmares weren't so terrible if this came after them. Life wasn't so terrible if, after everything horrible, I had Christine. I could go back to the way things were, in the worst times, if only I had her there.

Every morning now, I woke up to her face illuminated by the sunrise. Every meal, she sat with me. Every time I found inspiration and composed (on the piano she had insisted upon), she sat beside me. She called me handsome after I got dressed in the morning, but never when I was wearing my mask. She read books with me, let me tame her curls in the morning and stroke each lock when she leaned against me later in the day. She sang to me, and I to her, and us together, and it was paradise.

And yet she wasn't satisfied. I would find her peeking into the spare room, just for an instant, imagining it filled. I knew what she saw. It frightened me. There was no perfect prevention, nor was I capable of keeping myself from her if she wanted me. It would end with a baby. Our love would make one, and Christine would realize that fantasy and reality can never cross... save perhaps for me now.

Was she happy, though? She pretended to be. Whenever I asked, she would brighten and declare "yes!" with great enthusiasm. Then she would kiss me and make me forget about my worries.

I couldn't stop worrying about her, though. I offered to buy her another dog, but she refused. The cat we procured was a tempestuous orange tabby that was only for the mice, so she didn't have something to care for there. I helped her make another garden, offered to take her on walks through the countryside, had picnics with her, spent hours giving her music until my voice wore out and my fingers shook with exertion.

The trouble with Christine was that she cared too little about herself. She would defend herself vigorously if threatened, but she didn't want to trouble me. I knew she would say, "I'm happy," even if it was a lie. I had used to like kind lies, but now I despised them more than anything.

She was thoroughly in love with me, though. I knew it now. She never wore out of love, whether it be kisses or embraces, or the creation of it, apparently. I had been told women never wanted to use a bed for anything more than sleep, but perhaps Christine was a strange bird, because I was often the one who chose sleep. I would find myself exhausted from staying up late composing, then she would plant kisses all over me until I either told her "in the morning," or put aside my fatigue for later. It was impossible to tell her "no," but thankfully she understood my moods better than I did. She was always so considerate.

I couldn't get the idea of a baby out of my head, though. Once the dreams of Christine being replaced by a lifeless doll had faded, I dreamed up countless demonic children, or Christine swelling up with little more than parasites. I heard her screaming in the pains of labor, saw her bleeding, crying. When she didn't, she told me she wished she had died instead rather than birthed a monster.

Most of the time, however, I had no time to worry or remember nightmares. My days were too full of love for it. Christine came up with new "romantic" ideas so often that I wondered when she would run out. We watched sunsets, counted the stars (it was surprisingly wonderful), made shapes out of clouds, danced in the rain (and subsequently caught colds), and through all of these I realized how great life could be, what it was _supposed_ to be.

And then Christine confessed that she was lonely. At least, that was what I heard.

"You want a friend?" I asked.

Her lips parted, "That's not the way I meant it-"

"A pet? Would you like a pet? Maybe ducks to raise, like we talked about a while ago?"

She shook her head, "Erik-"

"Am I not your friend?" I pleaded, failing to not sound too desperate. "Is it because I-?"

"You did _nothing_ ," she replied, exhaling in irritation. "I love you, and these past few weeks have been so relaxed and happy, like we're somewhere else, but..."

"Is this about having a baby again-?"

"I'm never having a baby."

I didn't give a cry of elation just yet.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I'm breaking our agreement. I'm never having a baby... by choice, that is."

"I... all right. That's wonder- good. That's good."

She put her head in her hands. What was this about? Was she crying?

She whimpered. Oh lord above, she was crying!

"What's wrong?" I pleaded. "Just because you can't have a baby doesn't mean-"

"I don't c-care," she sniffled as I pulled her to my chest in desperation, "a-about a b-baby... I don't have... a-any friends, I don't... have a-any family, I... I have you, and I thought that would be enough, I thought..."

"Are you... on your flowers?"

She gave a sob, then her voice softened, "I miss everyone."

"Everyone...? Madame Giry and her daughter?"

"A-and my father, and m-mother, and everyone... Just everyone..."

My shirt was growing damp. She sniffled. I patted her head.

"You could write," I offered. Then I stared ahead in awful realization. "You could... visit them."

She looked up at me, "What?"

"Well, you could. I'm not forcing you to stay with me. You can go anywhere you please-"

"No, no, I wouldn't do that to you-"

"I'll go get some francs from the safe-"

"Erik!" she cried. "I couldn't leave you alone for that long."

"I'm not having you crying like this. Is that why you've been upset lately?"

"U-upset? No. I haven't been upset. Honestly. It's just today, just today, because..."

"Because?"

"Y-you know when things happen, a-and they leave an imprint on your heart? You react without knowing exactly why?"

"I know it well."

"My mother..." she stared down at the floorboards, "s-she died today. I don't remember her very well, but I can feel it in me as if I'm a child again, only six years old. I always feel sad on this day, every year, and I say ridiculous things-"

"Then this will pass?" I asked, hopeful.

She nodded, "I hope so..."

"Let's go into town," I offered, taking her hand and smiling. "I can buy you a new dress, a-and flowers, if you want."

A smile crept onto her tear-stricken face. I knew she didn't really want more things, but it was all I could offer. I didn't know what else to do.

"I would love that," she said softly.

Her sadness passed in two days, but her need for friends had stuck with me. Yes, she was perfectly capable on her own of collecting some, but was she? Was I holding her back without knowing it?

I offered to take her around the nearby vineyards and farmhouses to give out flowers and meet the women who lived there. Surely she would meet someone who shared something in common?

But did I want her to?

"But if I visit someone, will you be lonely?" she asked me.

"I'll compose," I replied, though I knew it wouldn't help her absence.

"You're so wonderful," she told me, kissing my cheek. "Absolutely wonderful."

Tears stung my eyes at her compliments. She turned away just in time for me to hide them.

I took her to visit every house within walking distance. Most women were drowning in children and housework, so they accepted her neighborly gift of flowers, but offered no companionship. We did come across one who couldn't have children, and a young widow with a little boy. Both were nearby, just a brief ride away. I told Christine she could ride Hazel to be quicker, which delighted her, as she had missed riding.

I felt a pang of regret for that.

She began to leave for an hour, four days a week. She would come back home smiling, talking about such-and-such woman and her life, like it was interesting. I pretended to listen. Sometimes she brought home various gifts from them, such as goat cheese (one owned five of them) and fresh grapes. She brought them wine as her gift, as the guest.

Then, one day, she had the audacity to ask, "Erik, could I invite them over for tea?"

" _Tea?_ " I asked, horrified at the very idea.

She set aside her book. We had been reading together that night.

"You don't have to be here," she said. "I just think it's rude of me never to invite them here... And we want to start a little charity."

"A charity?"

"Knitting scarves and such. We want to make a lot for the fall."

"It's only now summer."

"It's for orphans. Rouen has a large asylum for them, and I thought it would be wonderful for them all to be warm, and know someone made it for them. That someone loves them."

"And you're doing this here? I have to leave my house?"

"That's not what I-"

"Why didn't you ask me if I was fine with it?"

"Because any other husband would be perfectly fine with it, and any other wife would already be involved with a group of women, in a charity or otherwise. This doesn't mean I love you less. If anything, this is making me love you more!"

"How is that?"

"I get a break from us, just for a little bit, and the slight separation makes me love you more. But may I ask you, do I kiss you less?"

"No," I admitted.

"Sing with you less?"

"No."

"Do we make love any less?"

"No."

She reached for my hand, "This makes me happy. This makes us love each other more... But if you need me to stop, I will."

"Stop what makes you happy?" I snapped. "Why do you have such ridiculous notions?"

"Erik-"

"Invite them over for tea! I don't care!"

I stormed upstairs, unaware of myself. Why was I upset at her for being happy? Why couldn't I let her do as she pleased? Was I too weak to spend an hour alone, a mere hour?

I shut the door to the spare room, the one Christine had ceased opening now. It was dusty, empty, and the perfect place to wallow in self-pity: surrounded by the fantasy of Christine's that I could never give her.

I was a pitiful excuse for a husband. I couldn't give my wife children, nor bear to let her visit friends, or even let her start a charity! I couldn't bear to let her go alone anywhere for fear she might realize her mistake in marrying me and run away. I couldn't do anything a normal, sensible husband would do naturally!

Christine knocked on the door, and her voice called softly, "Erik, my love?"

I kept quiet, my eyes burning with tears. She pushed open the door, then came to my side, smoothing out her skirts over the floorboards. Her hand found its way onto my shoulder, and I shuddered at its tenderness.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's not your fault-"

"I'm sorry you can't be a normal husband to me... but you're my husband, and I love you so long as you love me... a-and perhaps even if that fades."

"It won't fade."

"I know... It's just hard when..." she bit her lip, "you love me more than I fear I could ever love you, simply because love is so alien to you, whereas it is commonplace to me. Because it is alien, you also have difficulty knowing how to express your love. I know how you feel, though. I know it."

I nodded, swallowing with a throat full of tears. She placed another hand on my shoulder and began to knead circles.

"If I could choose only one thing to have in this world," she almost sung into my ear, "you know it would be you... But I can have many things, and I want those as well. I only have one life to live, after all, and I want it filled to the brim"

She kissed my forehead and trailed down to my jaw, while her fingertips traced a flaming path over my chest as they left my shoulders. I met her lips, pursuing her in ecstasy, humming my contentment, forgetting what we had been discussing. The world dissolved. There was only Christine, only her lips and warmth, the warmth that threatened to devour me whole, and I let it. I drowned in it. She was pressed so close to me, but she needed to be closer, closer. I pushed her against the wall, our heartbeats frantic as they met, and she sighed like this was exactly where she wanted to be.

Then she placed her finger on my lips as I parted from her to breathe. Her face was bright as a star.

"I need to do my preventions," she whispered, sounding almost ashamed.

She rushed off to do so. I leaned back against the wall, pensive and unsettled.

That was when I realized the full extent of my stupidity, my... _naivety_. Yet again I had simply neglected her, without even thinking! How? How could I have not realized? If she loved me enough to keep herself from having children, then I could certainly spare her an hour, four days a week, to do with however she pleased, no matter how much it hurt.

She had given too much, and received too little. I intended to do better. This time I would, too. I wanted to somehow earn her love... if that feat was possible.


	27. Chapter 27: Innocence

**CHRISTINE**

I was going to host tea. There would only be three of us, but that was incredible to me. I had always been ostracized for every reason imaginable: being a Swedish immigrant, being "pure," being poor, everything. People could always find something. I had never gotten the chance to do something so normal.

These women treated me as an equal. They didn't judge or criticize, they... liked me. I thought they did, at least.

Erik aided me immensely in preparing. We bought cakes and such, though I tried to not make anything too expensive. The women weren't poor, but they couldn't afford luxuries. It would be so rude of me to show that I never have to worry about money, when they must keep a perfect record of all their expenses.

"Do you think the chocolate strawberries are a bit much?" I asked Erik as he helped me set the table.

"Don't ask me questions about people," he replied.

"Oh, yes, I'm just... a bit nervous."

He brushed a curl back from my face. "My darling, if they don't like anything, I'll pretend to be a ghost by throwing my voice and scare them off."

"That's a joke, yes?"

"Yes... a joke."

He glanced at the kitchen table set with a white tablecloth and all the treats and snacks. I was still boiling water for the tea.

"When they leave," I told him, "I want to do something together."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Whatever you want," I replied, tapping his nose with my fingertip. "Within reason, of course."

"Define 'reason?'"

There came a knock at the door. Erik's face fell.

"I'm sorry you have to just sit alone," I told him.

He nodded, turning to head upstairs. I spun him around for a kiss before letting him go. I hoped he had something to do...

I went to the front door. Clarice was on the doorway in a gray dress, which I had never seen her wear before. She always wore black, as her husband had been very dear to her. Her hair was a darker brown than mine and perfectly straight. She wore it up at the back of her head, and the strands were always tucked to impossible neatness.

"Clarice, hello!" I said happily. "How are you and Timothé?"

"Well," she replied in her curt fashion, smiling gently. Her eyes widened at the table. "Chocolate strawberries?"

"Do you like those?"

"My word, yes. I have to hide them from Timothé whenever I buy some. He finds everything with chocolate or sugar in it regardless of how well I hide it, though. Children have keen senses."

I nodded, my heart sinking a little. I brightened again upon hearing another knock. We were exceptionally time-conscientious, us three.

"Laura, how are you?" I asked.

"Very well," she replied quietly, "and you, Christine?"

"Very well."

She was about my size, though she tried to make herself as small as possible so as not to be seen. She blushed when she spoke, and when her husband had kissed her in front of me, she had turned rose-red. I had pitied her before for not having any children, but her husband had a beloved nephew whom he treated like a son, so she was content with her circumstance. She pretended to be, at least.

I felt like we were both similar in that aspect, not having children, and so I may have been inclined to prefer Laura over Clarice. They were both lovely women, though, in action and appearance. Clarice loved her son more than anything, and Laura made the most of her rather lonely life, what with a husband who worked away from home. They were both older than me by six years, but they didn't treat me like I was young.

We chatted for a while, amiably, while nibbling politely on chocolate-covered strawberries and cakes, and sipping tea. I mostly listened to them talk, as I couldn't go into much detail about my made-up past. It was difficult to lie to them, but I had to protect Erik and my secret.

"So, this charity idea," Clarice offered, setting down her teacup. "What inspired it?"

"Oh," I said, "well... I thought it would be nice, and simple enough for a small group. I also... know a man who was unloved as a child, so I thought I would not want other children to experience that."

"Poor soul. Is he a relative?"

"In a way... He has a wife now who loves him dearly."

"That's good... I think the charity idea is wonderful, but we need to set a goal. But which orphan asylum, firstly, and secondly, how many children require an article?"

"I don't know exactly."

Laura interjected shyly, "St. Pierre's is a good choice. It cares for around 100 children... I-I know because my husband and I were considering adopting, but now we don't have to."

"Yes, congratulations," Clarice said, smiling at Laura.

"What?" I said, rather rudely.

"Oh, did I not tell you?" Laura asked. "I'm sorry, I was rather... excited about it, I suppose. I thought I told everyone... As it turns out, I'm not barren, and I'm expecting a child."

"That's wonderful!" I said happily, concealing my selfish disappointment. "I would break out some champagne to celebrate, but that doesn't go very well with tea. With strawberries, though-"

"Oh, that's fine, Christine," Clarice told me. "We wouldn't have you wasting that... Do you mind if I ask, are you hoping for a child as well?"

"I... shouldn't."

"Shouldn't?" they both asked.

"It's private," I replied.

They both nodded in immediate understanding, and changed the topic back to our charity. I had to excuse myself to the bathroom, but I was truly going upstairs to see Erik.

I peeked through our bedroom door to find him poring over old compositions. He had his violin beside him that he was plucking to be sure of the notes, though I doubted he needed it very much.

He glanced up at me, "Christine?"

I whispered in reply, "Nothing's wrong... I needed a kiss is all."

"That sounds... like the opposite of what you just said. What's wrong?"

"L-Laura's having a baby. She was sure she was barren, but... miracles happen. I'm sure she prayed about it for a long time."

"And... what's wrong with her having a baby?"

"Nothing, of course, I just... I had hoped I could be close friends with her over the fact I didn't have a child and neither did she, but now she will."

"But this is wonderful for you, Christine. Don't you see?"

"N-no?"

"You can visit her when she has her baby, maybe help her care for it. Wouldn't you want that?"

"I hadn't even... considered it. Thank you." I smiled, "Might I have my kiss now?"

He held my head in his hands, planting a kiss on my lips, then one on my forehead.

"Go back down before I keep you here," he said, smiling weakly.

"I love you."

I headed back downstairs. The two were whispering to each other, but smiled as I came down.

"We were worried you weren't well," Clarice said.

"I'm fine," I replied. "But now I am _determined_ for that champagne."

"Well, if you're so determined, we would be delighted to. It goes with the chocolate strawberries, too... Are you sure your husband is alright with it, though?"

"He would let me commit murder. I'm sure a bottle of champagne is perfectly fine."

They laughed. They didn't know that Erik would actually let me murder someone if I so desired, if not help. I would never do such a thing, of course, but I could.

We made a plan for our charity, and they offered to ask other women to help. We had a goal of 25 knitted goods apiece, then added that whoever made the most would receive a gift from the other women participating.

"Take something home with you," I offered, gesturing to the leftover strawberries as they turned to leave.

"Oh, Timothé would love some," Clarice told me.

Laura said, "My husband doesn't like them, but thank you very much."

We waved goodbye, and they left. I beamed in delight.

"Erik!" I called. "They're gone, and we planned our charity and had a wonderful time!"

I heard his footsteps coming down the stairs. He stared at me for a moment, in the middle of the steps, as if confused.

"Your face is going to break if you smile like that," he said softly.

"Does it look bad-?"

"No, no. That's not what I meant. You look lovely. You look... so happy."

"I'm doing a charity now! It's going to be so wonderful for those children."

"Children?"

"Orphans. We're helping an asylum."

"Ah, yes... I'm glad you're so excited."

I nodded, "And now I want to do something with _you_."

"Me?" he asked, sounding innocently surprised.

"Anything that you like, to make up for you having been locked in our room for an hour."

"I don't deserve anything-"

"Please? I want to do something fun with us two."

"Like what?"

"Surely there's something you enjoy?"

"I... suppose a picnic dinner would be nice."

"Watching the sunset?"

"Yes."

"And bringing the good wine with us?"

"Do I buy _bad_ wine?"

"I meant the special one is all."

"Ah, yes."

"Maybe," I said shyly, "i-if no one is around, would it be alright i-if we...?"

"We what?"

"I mean, so long as there's no sign of anyone-"

"What are you saying, Christine?"

"Could we... make love? Outside?"

He blinked in stupefaction, "Where has my innocent little Christine gone?"

I colored brightly, "W-Well, I-"

"I would... love to. Whatever you would like."

"Then I want this... Just make sure no one is around, at all. That would be so embarrassing."

"And possibly illegal-"

"What?"

"Nothing, I said nothing-"

"Illegal? Oh, we can't do that, then!"

"Come on, Christine," he sighed, his regret evident. "Why not? You've already run away with me... Let's break just a little law. No one will see."

"I don't know... I would rather not."

"No sense of adventure?"

"You're on the run, you know. Last thing we need is to be caught breaking a law."

"No one's going to catch us. I doubt it's even outlined in a law-"

"I really don't want to now."

He exhaled, "I shouldn't have said that it could be illegal, should I?"

"Probably not, but thank you for being honest... Is there anything legal that we could do with making love that would be exciting?"

"There... are."

"Then we'll come back after our picnic, and you'll show me. Won't you?"

"If that's what you want."

We packed for a picnic after cleaning up. There was a place we had become fond of, out by a little pond in the forest. I missed the lake, but I was content with this.

We watched the light dissolve into stars as night fell. Erik had an arm wrapped around me as we stared up at the heavens.

"The sky is the most wondrous thing," I sighed.

"No," he replied.

"What do you mean?"

"You are."

I blushed, "You're so sweet-"

"You forget what you mean to me. I know you do. When you say I am your everything, it's what normal people say. When I say it, it's the complete truth."

"I know it is... And I'm sorry that it is."

"I'm sorry, too."

I slid on top of him, "No more words."

"Christine-"

"Shh," I whispered, smiling gently as I put my finger to his lips.

"I thought you said we wouldn't," he replied, reaching up to cup my cheek.

"Just a little."

His eyes grew glossy in the moonlight. He pushed me off of him and stood up, breathing heavily.

"Did I do too much again?" I offered. He often had little moments where he broke from the intensity of love.

"No, no," he replied. "I-I'll be fine... Give me a moment."

"All the time you need, my love."

"A-and I think we should head back home."

"Why is that?"

"We wouldn't want to accidentally break a law," he said with sarcasm, "out in the middle of a forest, with no one around to see."

"Certainly not... But maybe this once."

"What has possessed you?" he said quietly, amazed as he turned around.

"Impatience."

He chuckled, coming over to me, "Alright, then."

"What law would we even be breaking?"

"Public decency, I expect. But we're not openly in public."

"Oh, good, yes... Are you ready, then?"

"Always."

"Always," I replied, giggling as he began to pepper me with kisses.

"Maybe you shouldn't be... so loud, though," he whispered into my ear.

"I can't help it... and we're secluded."

"Then do as you wish."

"And what do you wish?"

"Nothing anymore," he replied, trailing kisses down to my shoulder. "I have nothing... left to wish for. I have... everything."

"Mm, so do I."

We were having quite an enjoyable time, and I found a little rule-breaking thrilling. Then there was the snap of a branch just beyond us. Erik released my skirts and pushed them back down to my ankles.

"Who's there?" he called.

I was blossoming with shame. But who was out here this late at night?

There was the crunching of leaves. Erik stood up just as swift footsteps faded away.

"I'm going to go see," he told me, grabbing our lantern.

"A-are you sure?" I asked.

"I was trained as an assassin, Christine. I'm sure I'll be fine... unless it's a ghost," he said, chuckling at his own joke.

I watched his light fade through the tree trunks. I waited only a moment before running after him.

"Erik?" I called. "I-is it alright."

His light wasn't moving. I came upon him. He was standing still, the lantern in his hand casting light on something at his feet, something he stared at like he had seen a ghost.

"What is it?" I asked, then I glanced down and gasped. "Poor thing!"

Lying on the leaf-coated forest-floor was a baby. A newborn baby. She was wrapped in a dirty towel, her head still dusted with blood from her birth.

"Why would someone leave a baby?" I asked. "A newborn baby, without anything wrong with it?"

"She didn't want it," he replied simply.

I bent down to pick the bundle up, and he grabbed my arm. I shook him off.

"What is wrong with you?" I demanded.

His eyes were glazed over. I doubted he even knew what he was doing.

I bent down and scooped up the infant, wrapping her dirty clothing tighter about her. She seemed to have been drugged, as she was in a deep sleep.

"We can't keep her," Erik said monotonously.

"There are formulas now, and once she's six months, Laura should give birth, so she could nurse her... We need to go back home."

"I'll pack our things," he whispered.

Once this was complete, we walked back home. I made a place for the baby to sleep out of a drawer. That was where I had slept as a baby, in a little drawer, until my parents had saved the money for a proper cradle.

"We need to find someone to care for her," Erik told me as I gently washed the blood off her head.

"Why can't we?" I replied.

"Because... I can't."

"This child needs a home, and God made her find us, so we are her home."

"God doesn't do that-"

"How would you know?"

He exhaled softly, "How would I... I'll go out in the morning to buy her formula."

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you... But... why would a woman abandon her child? A beautiful little girl, why?"

He shrugged, "She didn't want it, or perhaps it was easier to pretend it was stillborn rather than face public shame. Her family could have made her hide it. Or she could have simply not wanted it. People do that. For no reason at all, they just decide, 'not this one...'"

"Let's go to bed," I offered. "It'll all be fine in the morning."

He nodded.


	28. Chapter 28: Shaken Foundations

**I know a crazy amount about adoption, so this is my forte.**

 **Also, name-wise, I was thinking of Shakespeare at first, then music stuff, and they came together perfectly.**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **ERIK**

I jerked upright in bed, panting in the night air.

What was that noise? What was shrieking like that, turning my blood to ice with forbidden memories?

"Shh," Christine said groggily as she slid out of bed beside me. "It's alright, dear."

Had I screamed? But why was she getting out of bed, then, and the cries were continuing?

Oh. The baby. I had forgotten about the baby, the one Christine had decided to simply adopt as our own, without any consideration of the immense responsibility involved. She had too large a heart for her own good. In that case, perhaps we were a good match to balance each other out.

"Poor thing," she crooned as the infant's cries dimmed.

Perhaps I should have offered my help, but I was so stunned that the baby I had thought was a dream was real, and was demanding all of Christine's attention with that shrill noise it made. The sound reminded me of the majority of the opera chorus when they, for want of a better word, "sang."

"Erik," Christine asked me, the infant still fussing, "could you make some sugar water and dip a cloth in it for her? So she can suck on it to calm her down?"

I nodded, turning to do so. The shock of it all, and my half-awake state, made me only lucid once I was returning to her with the cup of sugar water and the cloth. I stopped suddenly on the way back upstairs, mesmerized.

She was singing. Her voice was always ethereal, but had I come up and found a halo about her head, I not have been surprised.

I came up to our room, tempted to simply hide outside the door and simply _listen_. Or, if not that, I wanted to tell her what profound love I felt for her, words I would never be able to express. I had tried and always failed to tell her the extent of my devotion.

She smiled as I entered the room, the lullaby soft on her lips. The infant was staring up at her with wide, misty eyes. I must have had the same entranced look myself.

"I doubt you," I said quietly, "even need anything to appease him now."

"Her," she reminded me, reaching for the cloth as I extended it to her.

The infant latched onto it immediately, its eyes shutting to slivers in contentment. Christine sighed.

"I don't know what to think," she said, glancing down at the needy infant. "I'm happy that we have a baby, without anything you feared, but... the mother who carried and gave birth to her abandoned her. Do you think she wants her daughter? Was she forced to give her up?"

I replied with cold calculation, "Had she been forced, or in any way cared for her child, then she would have left her on a doorstep or in the open. The infant was also drugged, as was evident, since she didn't cry. If the mother didn't want her to cry, she didn't want her to be heard. She left her to die."

"Why?" she asked, horrified. "Why would someone? Forgive me, Erik, but she's not even deformed! This doesn't make sense! Perhaps the mother heard us and knew we would care for her?"

"She left too much to chance for such a thing. Had she cared, she would have been sure. Her footsteps went away, you remember, before we came towards the baby, so therefore she was not watching to be sure her child was safe."

"I think she heard us."

"It's unlikely-"

"It's better than the alternative," she insisted desperately, "and it appeases my soul, so let me believe it."

She glanced down at the infant. I began to prop her up with pillows to help her hold it, then once she was thoroughly tended to, I sat down beside her in bed.

"Are you going to try to fall back asleep?" I asked.

"I'll take a nap later," she replied, still entranced by the infant. "I would rather hold her... What should we name her?"

I shrugged, "Perhaps something musical?"

"Musical? Wouldn't that sound strange, though?"

"We're not going to name her _Violin_. Something sensible, at least."

"Viola?"

" _Viola?..._ Whatever you want, but I thought maybe a French name, or even a Swedish one, not Italian."

"But it is a Swedish name. Not a common one, but it is. And Italian sounds romantic, doesn't it? Viola..." she whispered, then she glanced over at me. "You're not... upset about this, are you?"

I couldn't lie to her directly, nor could I admit that the prospect of raising a child was terrifying. We had just fallen into this blissful state of living, of being safe and loved together, just us two. It was heaven. People use that phrase so often, but for me, this was _heaven_. To be secure and loved, that was all I had ever dared hope for, and now that I had it entirely- _we_ had it entirely- this child had come along. What if everything changed?

Christine rubbed my shoulder, jolting me out of my pensive state.

"Are you afraid of change is all?" she offered. "Or of being a father?"

I hadn't even considered the latter, but she had mostly read my mind.

"You want this?" I asked instead. "You won't try to find another family?"

"Why would we?"

"We're not exactly... suitable."

Her face fell, "You don't think I can be a mother?"

"No, no, who could ever think that?" I said, bewildered by such a ludicrous assumption. "You would make a wonderful mother, but... We aren't ready. We weren't prepared. The baby is sleeping in a drawer, for goodness sake."

"I slept in a drawer beside my parents' bed. It's not that uncommon."

"Couldn't we look for another family?" I insisted. "Would either of your friends want her?"

"One's expecting a baby, and the other's a widow with her own son. Neither would want her... But I do, Erik. I want her as my daughter. I feel like she is my daughter already. The moment I saw her, there was this _feeling_."

The way she was speaking, I knew there was no possibility of giving the baby to others without her being distraught. Besides that, she deserved whatever she wanted. I had no right to deny her this, no right to even consider it, after all she had done for me. I was indebted to her. Moreover, this would make her happy. I wanted her to be happy, no matter how much it might hurt.

"Then she is your daughter," I told her belatedly.

She smiled, reaching for my hand, "Our daughter, yes?"

"Our daughter," I admitted.

She gave a delighted, hushed laugh as she leaned her head on my shoulder. I stared blankly ahead. My nightshirt grew damp where her head rested.

"We're so fortunate," she whispered tearfully.

"Why are you crying?" I asked, concerned.

"I'm so happy... It's all so perfect."

I nodded in relief, tilting her head so I could kiss her. I withdrew my lips, and she turned immediately to look back down at the baby. Before my heart could sink, it lifted as the corners of her mouth did.

* * *

 **CHRISTINE**

Erik bought formula in the morning for her, as well as countless other things: a rattle, blanket, cloths, safety pins, bottles, et cetera. I had the sickening feeling that it wasn't out of care for the baby, though, but wanting to please me. I could tell that he wasn't himself. He composed all morning, only ceasing when I required help. He never ignored me when I needed him, and would cease playing to ask me if I was alright, but that was all.

He wasn't being in any way selfish or unkind. He did everything I asked, but simply needed time to process the shock of it all. If that meant my husband would be tied to the piano all day for solace, I didn't care, so long as he was better the next.

I wanted to make up for the previous night, though. That might have disappointed him. The good thing was that Viola was a well-behaved baby who slept constantly and only wished to be held. So long as that was appeased, her stomach full, and her diaper empty, she hardly ever fussed. The issue was, of course, the holding. Erik and I certainly couldn't make love unless she was contentedly asleep, and not in someone's arms.

Holding her was wonderful, though. I only wished I could feed her like a mother, but she was perfectly content to suckle the rubber tip of a bottle instead.

She was so beautiful. Her eyes were gray, her hair wisps of brown, and she was a rosy pink all over. She would stare up at me, blinking infrequently, and I felt like she knew how much I already loved her. The love had consumed me overnight. I was her mother in my heart, her true mother, and she was my daughter.

Erik made all my meals that day, and I didn't raise a fuss about this, as I could tell it contented him to care for me. After dinner, I finally asked him the question that had been on my mind all day.

"Dear," I asked, "would you hold her for me?"

He folded his hands in his lap at the piano.

"I can't," he replied emotionlessly.

"What do you mean?" I asked, barely restraining some irritation. "My arms are tired, and I was wondering if you would hold her for just a moment."

"She's so... tiny," he said, finally turning to me with his gaze downcast.

"She is, but I'll help get you situated. If you use a pillow you barely have to support her at all. She only needs your presence and touch."

"I can't... I'm not..." He inhaled shakily, "I'm not gentle, and... I don't know anything about... infants, or children."

"That's why I'm here. I'll help you."

"I'll hurt her-"

"You will _not,"_ I insisted. "Come here, please. I'll help you. Just try."

He glanced at her with fear in his eyes. I tried again.

"My arms are tired," I said.

He stood up and came over to me. I gestured to the sofa, showed him how to prop his arm up with pillows and support her head with his elbow. He was silent throughout this.

I set her down in his arms. He stiffened. She began to whine at the change of caregiver.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes widening in horror.

"Nothing, she'll settle," I replied.

She calmed herself, yawned widely to expose her pink gums, then shut her eyes in sleep.

"I just hold her?" he asked.

"Just for a little while for me, thank you. My arms are so tired."

He was still rigid, barely daring to breathe.

I sighed, "She's fine, dear."

"Take her back," he whispered.

"Try a little longer, please-"

"I can't," he pleaded, visibly distressed.

"Alright, I'll take her."

The moment she was out of his arms, he leapt off the sofa, going to stare into the empty fireplace. He had a hand on the mantlepiece, and his features were hard.

"Will you lie down on your own?" I asked Viola as I set her on the sofa cushion.

She whined and refused to be sated. I wrapped her up again in her blankets, and only then did she quiet and permit me to see to my husband without her.

"Erik?" I whispered, brushing his shoulder with my hand. "What's wrong? Why couldn't you hold her?"

He shook his head, "I can't do this."

"Can't do what? Hold her? You were doing a marvelous job-"

"Be a father, I can't..." His hand trembled and fidgeted restlessly at his side. "I don't know anything about... anything of importance. I've read books, so many books, I'm full of so much, but I can't... I can't do this. I'll help you as much as you need- more, even- but you have to raise her."

"On my own? Why can't I teach you how to raise a child? Besides, I don't know any better than you-"

"You had a father who _loved_ you," he replied, insistent. "I had a mother who loathed me... And don't ask if I saw any proper love, as I was shut away most of the time, or hiding. I was... oblivious to any love that my brothers might have been basking in. The only _love_ I received were the days I wasn't bothered, allowed to hide alone in the attic or cellar, with books for company, or the cat when I was fortunate, until they killed that, they... I had no childhood. How am I supposed to give her one?"

"With my _help_ ," I insisted.

"Even with that... what if I hurt her?"

"How would you manage that?"

"She's so fragile."

"I showed you how to use the pillows to support her. I'll carry her around so you don't have to fret-"

"But when she gets older, what then?"

"I don't understand. She won't need holding then... But why do you think you would hurt her?"

"Not physically, but when she grows, when she... has a voice of her own, a mind of her own, what if... I remember the cruel words of my childhood more than any physical pain, and I would have preferred to be beaten than anything else."

"You think you're... going to be cruel to her? Why would you do that, when you would love her and me-?"

"Because I did it to you!" he snapped, deflating instantly and hitting his head on the mantlepiece. "I was so... overwhelmed with being married to you, and I didn't know what to do, how to love you, because I had planned for a doll and you were a living, breathing person. My mind wouldn't cooperate with my mouth, and my heart ached with love, but I couldn't form the words or even hold you the way I should have... I can remember everything I did that I wish I could take back. I was so desperate and I wish I could take it all back now that I know where I went wrong. I wish I could keep that lock from ever being placed on that door-"

"Erik-"

"-and hurting you, and I belittled you, I did-"

"You didn't-"

"And then before that, at the opera house, everything, everything! I wish it was all erased and gone because I didn't mean a single _thing_ -"

"It's fine-"

"It is not fine!" he cried.

Viola began to fuss, which crescendoed into a wail. I hurried over to her, placing her on my chest and rubbing her delicate back in circles.

"It's alright, darling," I whispered into her ear. "Go back to sleep. We'll keep our noise down."

I turned to Erik. He was leaning on the mantlepiece, his breathing ragged as he cried. The sight cut my heart.

I came over to him.

"Maybe you're right," I whispered. "It wasn't fine, what happened, not at all... But I forgive you, and whatever we endured for our first weeks of marriage, we endured. And now we're here... I forgive you entirely, because I love you."

"I don't deserve you," he replied frailly, not meeting my gaze.

"Well, maybe not," I finally admitted. "But I love you, and so, if anything, at least feel like I deserve to love you with my whole heart, and be loved in return. If you must rationale it that way, then do. But I love you."

He was silent for a moment. Then he said softly, "I'm going on a walk... if that's alright."

"Perfectly fine. Let me kiss you first, though."

He lowered his lips to meet mine, and I wished I could embrace him, but the baby wouldn't permit it. As we pulled away, I said, "After your walk, should we make up for last night?"

He kissed my hand. "If that is what you want," he replied.

"It certainly is. And you?"

"Of course..."

He turned towards the door, then back to me, before heading outside. I exhaled.

"At least he got that off his chest," I said aloud, to no one in particular.

To my surprise, I felt a weight off mine as well.

I put Viola to bed, hoping she wouldn't wake up in the middle of our lovemaking. Then I slipped down to my underthings and went downstairs to wait for Erik. Hopefully he wouldn't deny me, or himself for that matter. Perhaps it was my fault that he saw me offering this to him as, well, an offering. Didn't he know how much I enjoyed it as well? Did he not comprehend the fact that I could desire just as well as he could?

If only he would let me see him without the darkness to hide him... but that was certainly not an issue to remedy today.

I felt blood rushing into my cheeks as I heard footsteps. Should I sit or stand? Be shy like I usually fell into, or make an attempt, as always, to be confident? To be honest, my confidence was much higher than Erik's, which I knew was more of a facade than anything.

The door opened, and, in his traditional fashion, his hands began to shake at the sight of me. He pushed the door shut.

"I thought about putting on my nightgown," I told him, "but I thought you might like this."

"I would..." he hesitated, his eyes wide, "love you even if you were wearing a potato sack, my dear."

"When do I look prettiest?"

"Always."

"I know you're being sweet, but honestly, what do I wear that makes you- how do you put it? Unable to breathe?"

"I... suppose that would be..." he swallowed, "nothing, then."

"Nothing?"

"Is that wrong to say?"

"No, I'm flattered... I... like you the same."

His deformity ripened with color, which bled into the other side of his face.

"I was being serious, my love," he told me. "Don't poke fun at me."

I stepped towards him.

"I'm not," I replied, smiling as my cheeks burned. "Won't you kiss me now?"

That cut off his argument. He wrapped his arms about my waist and pressed his lips to mine. I gave a murmur of contentment as I felt myself blossoming with heat from my core, ribbons of flame running to the tips of my fingers. The heat molded us together more than anything, like we were melting. The coals in the pit of my stomach began to burn. I always felt unprepared for the intensity of us both together like this, fireworks lighting in our chests as we succumbed. It was this invigorating sensation of helplessness, for both of us, as we surrendered to one another.

We were so blind to the world around us that it took me a full minute to realize the noise grating in my ears. I pushed Erik away.

"I'm sorry," I told him sadly, rushing upstairs to tend to the baby.

I glanced behind to see him sitting down patiently on the sofa, staring into the empty fireplace once more. It seemed that was where his demons dwelled. He still had so many that I needed to rid him of..

"Coming, Viola," I called.


	29. Chapter 29: Devotion

**CHRISTINE**

Viola woke us up in the middle of the night. Her cry had a pitiful quality to it that made her impossible to ignore. I told Erik he could go back to sleep, but he wouldn't hear of it, and headed downstairs to make her milk.

"You have such a strong cry for someone so little," I told her, rocking her where I sat on the bed. "Be patient; your father's coming back soon."

It felt strange to call Erik and I parents now. One day we were behaving like newlyweds, the next we had a baby! It was all so sudden. I had barely had time to read the book Erik had bought for me about caring for babies. I was relying on instinct now, mostly.

I began to hum to her, and she settled into little murmurs of irritation at why it was taking so long for her to be fed. My heart sank at the realization that, normally, a mother could sate her child immediately, and I couldn't. I had to prepare it myself, which took time.

Erik came back upstairs with the bottle.

"Thank you so much," I said. "And you checked to be sure it wasn't too hot?"

"Of course, my dear," he replied tiredly.

"Come cuddle with me while I feed her. She's adorable when she eats."

We found our way into a comfortable position, with Erik holding me from behind, and me holding the baby. She found the bottle tip after some coaxing.

"Isn't she adorable?" I said softly. "How she shuts her eyes like that?"

"Yes," he replied, likely just to please me. He reached to run his hand through my hair.

"I bet most husbands wouldn't do what you did," I told him, leaning further back into him.

"What did I do?"

"Get up with me in the middle of the night to care for her."

He shrugged, "I don't much like sleep."

"Oh, none of that. Just accept my thanks."

"I... don't deserve-"

"Would you cease?" I snapped at him in a loud whisper. "I thought we've been over this before countless times, no more 'I don't deserve's. It's frustrating! I don't want you to feel indebted to me. Everything you do should be out of love and that alone, same as me. And anything you did before is forgiven- _everything_. When I say everything, I mean absolutely everything! It's no good bringing up the past, when now, as you should well know, you are a caring and devoted husband who understands what it means to love his wife."

"You feel that way?" he asked, quietly surprised. "That I'm caring and devoted?"

"Of course. I think you've become a wonderful husband. Any woman would be envious of me."

"I'm sure..." he whispered with a bit of sarcasm, reaching up to his face without thinking.

"There's more to life than what's on the surface. You should know that better than anyone... I love you, Erik, with all my heart."

"I..." he said, hesitating, "want to love you more than... I am."

"What do you mean?"

"You've given me everything, and I've given you nothing in return."

"No debts, Erik-"

"Exactly. No debts. I want to repay you."

"That's not what I meant-"

"Then I want to love you as much as you act like you love me," he said firmly. "What must I do?"

Viola released the bottle. I set it aside on the nightstand.

"I..." I told him cautiously, "suppose I have... one request."

"Anything."

"I want you to love Viola, call yourself her father, and try to be that. That is my request, if you want to show your love of me in a profound way."

He stared down at me, then forward at nothing in particular. His lopsided lips parted for a moment before he spoke.

"Then I will," he replied. "Whatever you want, I will do."

"But because you are indebted to me, as you say, or because you love me?"

"Because I love you too much to be indebted to you... I wish I could love you too much."

"I like this much," I replied, resting my head back on his shoulder. "It's just right..."

He kissed the top of my head, and I found myself warming to his touch. I had been disappointed by earlier, too. I the kindling in my soul had barely begun to smoke before Viola interrupted. Would it be like that always? What if we never truly had time to ourselves again?

"I love you," he whispered against my ear.

"I love you, too," I replied, shutting my eyes and sighing. "I'll see if I can get her to sleep so we can make up for earlier."

"You're not too tired?"

"Oh, no. Not for this."

I glanced down at Viola as I went to set her down in her drawer. She fussed and whined at the loss of contact, so I wrapped her up more snugly, and only then did she settle. I could still hear her murmurs of discontent, though.

"I feel awful ever setting her down," I whispered. "What if she thinks I'll never pick her up again?"

"What do you mean?" Erik asked as I went back over to him.

"What if she remembers when her mother left her? Maybe that's why she's so adamant about being held."

A shadow crossed over his features. I rested my head on his heart. He set his hand on my head, weaving it through my curls.

"You may be right," he whispered. "It's not a memory, it's... a feeling. I remember..."

I placed my finger to his lips, "No, no. I didn't mean to take you back to old memories. I was only thinking..."

"Is she asleep now?"

I glanced over at her, "I think so... let's hope she stays that way. We'll just have to be quiet."

His features softened as he stared into my eyes. There wasn't just desire there, though, and actually, this time there seemed to be very little. There were always two emotions behind his eyes when we made love. One was desire, yes, but the other was... indescribable. Perhaps I could describe it as gratitude? But it was more than that, a word that doesn't exist...

I simply looked into his eyes, and I knew he loved me. That and he was making it very clear that he wanted nothing but me at that moment, but when did he ever want anything else? Music, of course, but I was more to him. He said it often.

In a way, making love was like making music. There were different tempos, different notes, different intensities, and it always ended on a grand chord. The thrill of it was certainly like music. My heart filled until it overflowed, and I always never wanted it all to stop, until it did, and I was content. We would always curl up next to each other afterword, and sometimes Erik would cry quietly from being loved so deeply.

Viola was polite enough to refrain from crying until after we had curled up next to each other. I shuffled over to her, bleary-eyed.

"You're very needy, aren't you?" I said, yawning as I picked her up and placed her on my chest.

I rubbed her back in circles, patting a little to soothe her, then I brought her over to the bed.

"Could she sleep between us?" I offered tiredly. "I just want to sleep, and I don't think she'll let us if she's not with us."

"What if we roll over?" he asked.

"We won't... w-will we?"

"And my nightmares," he offered.

"But you don't move around that much during those-"

"I could."

"Why don't I set the drawer down beside us?"

"Alright," he replied as I went to retrieve it.

Once she was finally settled, dividing both Erik and I by her place between us, we three were permitted to sleep until morning.

* * *

 **ERIK**

Christine was exhausted, but happy. I could tell there was a brightness to her now, more vivid than before. Her eyes always lit whenever they came to rest upon her child.

She began wearing an apron, speaking in a song-song voice, reading books I bought about caring for babies. She was devoted to and delighted by her daughter. I couldn't be upset watching, though I would feel a pang in my heart at realizing what heaven I had missed as a child.

I wanted to help, but I couldn't. If I did make an attempt to hold the baby, I stiffened up against my control, and often milk came up from her little stomach and onto whatever I was wearing.

Due to this, I never helped directly with the her, but I took care of the laundry, of which there was always far too much. I made the formula, washed the bottles, bought her toys, made meals for Christine and I, everything that didn't involve the baby. It was still so much, though, and I didn't know how mothers could do it all by themselves. I was glad that Christine had me. It felt wonderful to help her, to know she wouldn't have to do so much since I was here.

She thanked me incessantly, and told me always that, "When she falls asleep, we can play music together." But she was so exhausted that she always took naps at the same time as the baby. I didn't mind, though. I didn't have the right to mind.

We endured this for two weeks until there came a knock at the door. I stiffened in dread. Christine was fast asleep on the sofa, sprawled out from exhaustion.

I ran through all the scenarios in my head as I donned my mask. Only one ended in murder, if it was a policeman, and there was no way to avoid that end. Perhaps it was just a child, though, or someone who had found the wrong house.

I opened the door to find a woman dressed in black, with a hat of the same hue on her tightly pinned-up brown hair. She stiffened a little upon seeing my mask, then seemed to remember the made-up story Christine had told them, and relaxed.

"Good afternoon, monsieur," she said. "I'm Clarice Duval. I don't believe we've ever met."

"I'm Jean Delamer."

"It's wonderful to meet you," the woman said. "I came to see if your wife was well. She hasn't come to visit in two weeks, and Laura and I were concerned."

"She's asleep," I offered. "She's preoccupied with the baby."

The woman's eyes widened, "Baby? H-how-?"

"Adopted."

"Oh, that's lovely, then. When can I return to see her and the baby?"

"In... an hour, perhaps."

"Then I will return then. It was nice meeting you, monsieur."

"And you," I replied stiffly, then added, "madame."

"Goodbye."

She turned to her horse, finding her way onto it in the proper side-saddle way. I watched her leave for only a moment before shutting the door. Interacting with anyone other than Christine was terrifying.

Christine murmured from the couch, barely awake, "What was that?"

"One of your friends," I replied.

She moaned, "Oh, no, I haven't had time to see them, they must think I don't like them-"

"No, no, I told her about the baby and she was very understanding."

She had already started to cry. I sat down next to her and cradled her like she did with the baby.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Why do you cry?"

She shook her head against my chest, choking on her tears.

"I'm just... t-tired," she managed out. "I think so... t-that's all, and... W-what if they think I... d-don't want to be friends with them... now? That I'm... t-too busy?"

"Of course not... That's not to say that I understand people, but why would they think that? Besides, I told her to come back in an hour."

"Oh, good," she sighed. "And... I'm sorry I'm... m-making such a fuss about being tired, w-when you do so much-"

"I don't feel fatigue in the same way others do, and it's not so much at all. But don't cry about it, everything's alright. Do you want me to get Viola for you?"

"G-get her... for me? No-no, she's sleeping, don't wake her..."

"Alright... You should sleep yourself."

She nuzzled into me, "Stay with me, won't you?"

"Of course."

I found a comfortable position, and she was practically on top of me while she slept. I couldn't say that I shut my eyes at all, but having her so close was far better than sleep, and there was no chance of nightmares here.


	30. Chapter 30: Security

**ERIK**

I was unable to forget what my life had been before this. At night, I returned to the dark, returned to placing my hand on the opposite side of her mirror, desperate to reach out beyond the cold glass. Now I had, and it was heaven, pure and simple. I didn't even mind the child sometimes, not as much as I thought I would. Christine loved me just as much. She made a point of showing it, and for once, it seemed I might be giving her more love than she was me. I dearly hoped that was true at last.

Our life was orientated around the baby's needs. Christine refused to let her cry for more than a minute, even at my insistance that the baby should know that she can't expect us to wait on her hand and foot. Christine was so concerned about the baby feeling abandoned, though, that she wouldn't set her down or let her cry.

I knew she wouldn't be able to keep this up. Even though I was trying to do all the work that didn't involve interacting with the baby, Christine would find ways to "help" me anyway. I- though I was quite ashamed of myself- snapped at her to take care of her daughter rather than the laundry once, as I didn't require any help.

"But you should have time to yourself," she offered.

"At the cost of yours?" I retorted.

"But I care for her with little effort, and I receive joy from it, but you... don't."

"You think I don't...?" I asked, perplexed. "Receive joy? From caring for you, you think this isn't wonderful for me? I would do nothing but work every minute for the rest of my life to be with you. I want you to have your joy from the baby and not be drowning in work that I have to full capacity to do... and yes, it brings me great joy to know that you can rest without worrying as other mothers must. I cannot even convey the joy it brings me."

"Honestly?"

"Why would I lie?"

She smiled, "Because you love me, but thank you... Now let me kiss you."

I brought my lips down to hers, a spark igniting in my chest at the sensation. She emitted a little hum of contentment. I knew I ought to pull away. She had the baby in her arms still, after all. There was very little passion that could occur with that formidable blockade in between us.

She wouldn't let me go, though. She reached a hand up to my deformity, as she knew I was more starved for affection there than anywhere. I shivered whenever her fingertips grazed it, but I preferred it to any other caress regardless. Her lips kept locking with mine, drawing me in and dissolving my defenses.

Then the baby whined, perhaps at the lack of attention being paid to her, and Christine and I ceased immediately. We returned to our respective occupations.

I was already missing having her all to myself, though. She was always tired now- not always exhausted, but tired. The baby made her wake at odd hours, something I was accustomed to, but she was not. It was straining her. She tried to take naps, and yet she said they didn't help her fatigue.

Her friends came over once a week to coo over the baby, which made Christine puff up with pride. She was always smiling when I came down, just after they had left. It renewed her energy until the baby drained it again. I doubted she even noticed her fatigue most of the time, though. I was only obvious to me.

Her pregnant friend offered to take care of the baby for us for an evening, should we want a moment to ourselves. Christine accepted without a second thought. The woman wanted to have some preparation, while helping us get some much-needed rest.

Once this wonderful evening arrived, however, Christine kept worrying about the baby.

"Make sure you check the temperature of the milk before feeding her," she told her friend. "And don't let her sleep without being wrapped snugly so she feels like she's not alone."

"She'll be fine," I insisted, concerned that Christine might be reconsidering. "She's perfectly safe."

"I-I know," she said, smiling at her friend. "I trust you very much, Laura."

She finally let go of the baby. On the way home, though, she kept asking about if we had forgotten anything. I was becoming irritated beyond what I could control.

"And what if," she offered yet again, "what if they forget to-"

"Christine!" I cried. "My love, this is the only time we have had to ourselves in a month now. I don't want you fretting over Viola. She is an easy baby, you said so yourself. If she is held, she is content."

"Yes, but-"

" _No_. Won't you forget for a night? We can open a bottle of champagne together, have a nice dinner, then... I was hoping we might..."

"I know, my dear. But I can't help being worried. It's the first time I haven't been caring for her. I know she's in good hands, but I... It's just difficult for me. But I do want a nice dinner, to play music with you... I can't promise I won't be worrying about her, though."

"How is it so difficult for you? I understand that you love her, but aren't you exhausted?"

"Of course I am. I was exhausted the first few weeks with you, you know, but I persevered because I loved you, though I didn't fully comprehend it then, but yes, you were exhausting, too."

"This isn't about me. This is about your wellbeing."

"Am I not allowed to worry about my child? Is that harming my wellbeing?"

"I don't want you to be distracted and anxious all night."

"You think I do? I can't help it. She's somewhere else, away from us."

"With a friend whom you trust."

She sighed irritably, "If we're going to be upset all night, this isn't going to be very relaxing at all. I would rather have her here if we're going to argue about my anxiety."

She crossed her arms to emphasize her point, and her lips trembled. I reached over to gingerly rub her shoulder.

"I just want you to be relaxed," I told her. "I don't want you to think about her."

"I'm her mother," she replied, her hands falling back into her lap. "I don't think that feat is possible... I do want to relax with you, though, but I don't want to argue about what might be occurring in my mind."

"At least don't talk about her, all right?"

"I'll try my best."

I forced myself to be content with that reply, or else I risked having her go back to retrieve Viola. She needed time to rest.

Once we arrived home, we made and ate dinner together. We were a bit tense from earlier, but we brightened as the evening went on. She had me play some of my compositions, and sang one I had written for her, sang with all the light in her soul. We spent hours doing nothing but that. No needy cries interrupted us. There was no laundry to be done, no bottles to be made, nothing.

I still wished, secretly, that we didn't have that baby. The only benefit of it was Christine's happiness, which I could only see dim rays of in the midst of her fatigue. Even after over a month, I felt no affection towards the child. None whatsoever. I feared it far more than I loved it. It could take away everything from me.

For once, though, this feeling didn't settle within me. I wanted to feel differently. I wanted to love the child as Christine did, to not lie that it was beautiful, but to see it through her eyes.

Perhaps it would be nice to have a family after all this time, though... a real family...

Christine took a bath in the living room. She knew very well what she was doing when she asked me to help her wash, knew very well that the water concealed none of her beauty. She was freckling now as the summer drew on, all over her pale skin. Her nose was covered in the little dots, as were her cheeks, her arms, legs, even her little feet. She acted as if she wished they were gone, so I made a point of commenting about them every single time we were intimate. It wasn't a difficult feat by any means.

"What do you want to do after this?" she teased. "We have half an hour."

"What do you want?" I replied.

Her whole body blushed, "To make love without interruptions, or my fatigue. I wish we could fall asleep afterwards, but this will have to do... Help me dry off, would you?"

She stood up and stepped out of the bath, still rosy from shyness. A part of me admired when she was confident, but truly, I admired her always.

"Have you seen the famous painting of Venus?" I asked as she wrung out her curls.

"Hm? I think so. Don't tell me I look like her-"

"You don't."

She blinked, pausing for a moment, "Oh."

"I mean, of course, that you're more beautiful than any painting."

"What about a sculpture?"

I shrugged, "They don't have freckles."

She giggled, then her lips folded together.

"Did I miss anywhere?" she asked, turning around.

"N-no," I managed out.

No matter how many times I saw her, it always knocked the air out of my lungs.

She giggled again, "Well, go on, then. Won't you kiss me?"

She was in my arms so quickly that she gasped. I whispered that I loved her a thousand times into her ear, and she replied the same endless phrase. I had never heard those words before I met her, not to me, anyway. It was the most beautiful and fulfilling sentence in any language.

Perhaps I loved her more than anyone had ever loved someone, simply because I loved nothing else in comparison. I needed nothing but her, nothing. I didn't even need her soft lips or the warmth of her at night. I only wanted her here so that I wouldn't be alone and unloved anymore.

I had known about pleasure, but I found that was not best part of making love with Christine at all. It showed me that she trusted me, that I was safe. I was entirely enveloped by warmth and love. Nothing could take me away from it; nothing could hurt me. The pleasure that came over me was nothing compared to being securely loved. And besides my own bliss, I craved Christine's far more than my own. I hardly remembered who I was most of the time. I was too overwhelmed by _Christine, Christine,_ and all I could think of was her: her darling little sighs, the sensation of her against me, and how she simply made it obvious that she was enjoying my loving of her immensely.

There was nothing more wonderful in all this world than loving another person, save being loved in return as well.

I tried not to cry this time. After we had finished, and Christine was still faint with delight, all rosy and glowing, I pleaded with my eyes not to water like a child's. I was always so overwhelmed by the fact that she loved me in all ways that I couldn't bear but cry for it. There is joy that can only be expressed in tears.

She scooped me up like the baby she so adored, knowing my thoughts, and placed my head on the softest part of her. Her hand came over to caress my deformity, making me tremble uncontrollably.

"I can't help it," I told her, my voice frail.

"Then don't," she replied, kissing my forehead. "I don't mind a bit. I even get to hold you like this, so why should I mind?"

I exhaled shakily, "We should... get the baby."

"When you're ready-"

"I am," I replied, brushing away my tears as I began to dress.

"If you say so."

Once I was dressed, I helped Christine with hers. It was easier for me to do it than her to.

"Thank you," she told me, planting two swift kisses on my lips, then a drawing out the third.

We went to retrieve Viola. Christine was overjoyed to have her again, and her friend and her spoke for some time, cooing over the infant. I waited in the cart, in the dark.

She finally departed from their house, and I helped her up into the cart. She was smiling brightly.

"Everything went well," she told me. "I had no reason to be worried at all!"

"I told you," I said.

She nudged my shoulder playfully, "That you did."

Then her gaze fell back to her baby, and I stared ahead, starting us home.

She was happy, and that was all that mattered. I insisted this to myself, despising my own lack of emotional control. All that mattered was that she was happy. And why shouldn't I be happy, then? Why was a part of me cold and bitter beyond my control? I had no right to be, first of all, and second of all, I didn't _want_ this feeling.

"I think we should do that once a month," Christine told me. "Be away from the baby for a little while."

"Whatever will make you happy," I replied, keeping my eyes ahead to hide their contents from her.

"This is more about you, though. I know it's hard not having all of me to yourself anymore."

"Thank you for putting it so bluntly," I retorted.

"Erik, don't talk to me like that. It is blunt, because it's true, and it makes sense. Why shouldn't you be, for want of a better word, selfish with me?"

"Because I should love you better than I do."

"No. Not at all. The things you could change before, you've already changed, but this has been done to you. You love me perfectly well. It's only the fact that you have been so devoid of love that of course you want to keep me all to yourself. It's right to be upset, Erik dear. I don't mind if you're upset. You should be. This came so suddenly, and you had no time to prepare yourself. I've noticed with you that you like to think things through beforehand, and when you don't have that opportunity, you work on instinct alone, and it doesn't turn out very well... I don't mind you being upset for a little while and making plans in your head, but I do expect you to overcome it, just like everything else difficult I've ever asked of you."

"How... do you know my mind... better than I do?"

"Mother's intuition," she smiled.

"You're a wonderful mother, you know."

"Thank you. I do my best... And you're going to make a wonderful father. You just need time is all."

I nodded, though I doubted her regardless.

"It's so beautiful tonight," she sighed, staring up at the star-riddled sky. "That's my favorite type of moon, where it's the barest trace of it."

"I used to go days without seeing the sky," I told her pensively, glancing up. "I never knew it was beautiful until you said so... I hardly even knew it was there..."

"You know what you taught me like that?"

"What?"

"That everything is beautiful in its own way."

She leaned over to kiss me, and I wondered how her god's heaven was supposed to be better than this bliss that existed on earth.


	31. Chapter 31: Two Loves

**CHRISTINE**

Erik began to behave secretively, disappearing at random instances, only to pop up the moment he heard his name called. He even once asked if I wanted to visit my friend for the afternoon. The thought of him sacrificing his time with me was unbelievable. He wasn't at that point yet.

"Are you hiding something?" I asked him after another suggestion of his.

"What would I be hiding?" he replied simply, glancing down at where Viola rocked in my arms.

She beamed up at him. She had just learned how to, and was showing off at every available instant. Erik did not return it.

"I think we should play a bit of music," I offered. "Maybe something Italian for our little Viola?"

"What do you have memorized?"

"Oh, only French pieces, really. I thought you bought some copies of others, though, so I can read them."

"I have _La Traviata._ "

"Only that one? Well, there are a few of Violetta's songs I know, and I like them very much. About _love_ and _freedom_."

"Two important topics to you," Erik told me, smiling a bit to himself. "Are you going to hold the baby and sing?"

"I don't see why not," I replied, bouncing her up and down to make her smile. "She loves when you play."

"You don't know that. She has only three expressions, and one often means another."

"Just glance at her while you play," I insisted. "Her eyes light up, like she's in awe."

"You do the same, you know."

"But she's more adorable."

"I find that difficult to believe... Let me get the piece."

I said to Viola in my sing-song voice, "Did you hear that, my love? Papa's going to play music with us."

She smiled and reached for my face. I tapped her nose with my finger, then turned to Erik, who hadn't moved a muscle since last I had spoken. He was staring down at the piano keys as if there were notes there for him to read.

"Dear, are you alright?" I asked.

"Yes, yes, fine," he replied hastily, setting up the music. "Here's your part."

I placed it on the stand he had bought for me so that I could hold Viola while I sang. It was interesting having her against my chest, as she could feel the vibration of my voice. It seemed to have a calming effect on her, as she would relax and shut her eyes at the sound, or perhaps the feeling of it.

Erik began the piece, and it was as if my soul were a bird being set free. Although that sounds like such a common comparison, there was little else to be said. My soul wanted to fly and only Erik's music could carry it away, like a strong, steady wind. It wasn't my soul, though; I sang out the thoughts of Violetta, of her desire for love, conflicting with her desire for freedom, as mine did. Erik had already mentioned that. How strange that I had once thought the two must be separate!

I held out the last note for longer than it should have been, but that didn't matter here. Erik shut his eyes in bliss.

"You have the voice of a siren," he said, "but with the intent of an angel."

"Am I so irresistible?" I teased, then I glanced down at Viola. "The little dear's asleep."

"Oh... but she won't remain so if you put her down."

"We don't know that. I'll try and see what happens."

I turned to take her into our room. Once I had placed her in her drawer, she settled down well enough on her own. I placed a light blanket over her, then stared for a moment at her sleeping form.

My love for her was such an odd thing. I had not carried her in my womb, endured the pain of birth, nor did I have any relation to her, yet I loved her like I had all those things. She was my daughter, and it wounded my heart that Erik might be unable to love anyone but me. I wanted us to be a family.

I slipped out of the bedroom and headed into the living room. Erik was sitting on the sofa, waiting patiently.

"She's still asleep?" he asked, awed.

I beamed, "She is indeed."

"Your voice might have done it, then... We shouldn't play anymore, though. We could wake her."

"What should we do, then?" I asked, sitting down beside him. "Read a book, perhaps? Or just sit and talk?"

"A book sounds nice," he told me.

I spread myself out playfully over his lap, smiling up at him, "Which?"

He flickered a smile in reply, "Something lighthearted, no drama or misery."

"You bought me some Jules Verne," I told him, gesturing over to the bookshelf. "I think that would suit your description. Which journey should we go on?"

"Which haven't you yet?"

"Oh, I've read them all. You choose."

"What are my options?"

"Around the world, a mysterious island, under the sea-"

"Around the world. I want to test his accuracy."

I laughed, "Alright, then. I love that one... Can we do the way we have, where you read a chapter, then I do?"

"Of course... but," he gestured to me, "you can't read like this."

"I can hold the book over my head."

"But besides that, how are either of us supposed to get the book if you are on top of me, and you seem to be refusing to move?"

"You're a genius. Figure out a solution."

"Christine, that doesn't make any sense-"

"Go on," I teased, crossing my arms. "Solve my riddle."

"That's not a riddle, my dear Sphinx. A riddle is a clear puzzle with a solution. You are posing something that is not exactly a puzzle, and though it may have a solution, it is obvious. You must get up and retrieve the book, then resume your position."

"Or you could carry me."

"Carry you over to the bookshelf? How would I pick up the book, then?"

"I will."

He sighed, "If that's your solution."

"Does that make me a genius then, because I solved the riddle?"

"It wasn't a riddle, nor was there any logic in what you just said, but if it contents you, then yes, you are now a genius."

"Wonderful. Now we're equals."

"If we're basing intellect off of your, as you call them, 'riddles,' then _I_ am no genius... Could we get the book now?"

"Kiss me first."

A tremor ran through his hand at the sudden request. "Where and how?"

"Wherever and however."

He cupped my head in his hands as he bent down for my lips, taking them firmly and gently. He pulled my body closer to his, then released me as we parted.

"And now, we read," he said, scooping me up and taking me over to the bookshelf.

I grabbed our novel from among the others, then he set me on the sofa and sat down beside me. I leaned my head against his shoulder.

"You first," I said, "if you would, please."

"Of course," he replied.

We made it through three chapters before my ears pricked at Viola's whimpering. She always whined and whimpered before crying, so it was easy to predict when she would start.

Once had I wrapped her up snugly and set her back down to sleep, Erik and I slid in beside her. I leaned back over the pillows, around the drawer, so I could kiss him.

"I love being a family," I whispered to him. "You like it, don't you?"

"I've always wanted one," he replied pensively.

"But you don't sound happy with what we have."

"Perhaps... it is so difficult for me to be fond of her because... I know she won't ever love me."

I blinked. "Never love you? Why wouldn't she love her father?"

"Because you are the only person on this earth who can love me... You once told me I was ugly on the inside as well as the outside."

"That's not what I said-"

"It's true."

"It _was_ true, once... But we won't tell her anything you did before now. It is forgiven, so why does it matter?"

"You would be lying to her, though. Are you going to tell her that we're her true parents as well?"

"I... think she should know the circumstances of her becoming ours eventually, but not your past. That is yours and mine to know only. But we'll face that when we must. For now, don't worry about the future. Enjoy the fact that we have our own little family now."

"I suppose..." he whispered, "it is nice... It almost feels like I belong somewhere."

"I'm glad you finally feel that way, because you do belong here... Goodnight, my love."

I kissed his cheek, and he found my lips after. We fell asleep for a full three hours before being roused by a distressed cry.

As the summer days continued, Viola seemed to be sleeping for longer. Erik insisted again for me to take her with me to visit my friends, and I finally obliged, still confused as to what he was hiding. At least I didn't have to worry about another woman with Erik, but... what _did_ I have to worry about with him?

I loved bringing Viola to my friends. They fawned over her to no end, giving me a break from holding her constantly. Even when she coughed up milk, they found her delightful. After she had fallen asleep, we discussed each other's lives, especially Laura's due to the baby. She told us she could feel him moving inside her now, his little kicks and such, and I found myself wondering what that might feel like. Yes, I had a baby now, but... one that Erik and I had created would be nice as well. Why not have two? Perhaps in a couple years I could consider that. Convincing Erik might be impossible, though, especially with one child already.

He came to take me home after a whole afternoon of tea and conversation with my friends. Viola was still sleeping, so I had to be cautious in picking her up.

"How was it?" Erik asked me.

"Shh, she's sleeping," I whispered in reply as he helped me into the cart, "but good. It was good... May I have a kiss?"

"Always," he replied, placing a swift one on my lips.

He started us home. The jostling of the cart woke Viola up with much ado, as if it had personally offended her. She wouldn't cease fussing until we arrived home, when she received her milk.

Erik was smiling endlessly, and I knew he was hiding something then. He hardly ever smiled for more than a second or two.

"What did you do?" I asked as Viola sucked her bottle.

"You'll see," he said.

"A surprise, then? Is this why you've been so secretive?"

"Secretive? I haven't meant to be."

"It's alright... I wonder what surprise it could be..."

Once the last of the milk had been drained, I put Viola on my shoulder and patted her back. Erik was almost trembling with excitement, so he didn't wait for me to finish getting rid of the bubbles in Viola's little tummy. He took me upstairs with her still on my shoulder.

"I've been working on it while you slept," he told me, "up until now, when I had time to finish it."

"Working on it?" I asked. "I'm excited to see what this is."

He took me to the room I had used for my imaginings about a child, and forgotten. He unlocked the door and opened it to me.

My mouth fell open at the sight.

"It's beautiful," I whispered.

The walls of the room were covered in pastel wallpaper that was decorated with little white birds in places. I wandered over to a cradle in pale wood, with a mobile of stars set above it. This I showed Viola. There was a rocking chair in the corner with a white cushion, a dresser with a vase of flowers atop it, a half-filled basket of toys, everything. I hadn't thought Erik capable of it. I had not asked for this at all, not even mentioned it, and yet he had known this would bring me joy.

"You like it, then?" he asked, smiling hopefully.

"I love it," I replied, still surprised and awed. "It's better than I imagined..."

I sat down in the rocking chair with Viola, who blinked up at me for a moment. I pushed the chair back and forth once before stopping.

"You didn't have to do this," I told him, resuming the patting of Viola's back. "I could have helped."

"But then I wouldn't have seen your expression just now," he replied, quite pleased with himself. "Now she has her own room and can sleep in a proper cradle, too."

"Oh... Well, I suppose that's best so that she can get used to it, and our room is so close."

"It is."

I stood up from the chair, beaming, "Oh, I'm ecstatic about this! You're a good father, you know, and this proves it."

"It's out of my love for _you_ ," he said honestly.

"At least a little for the baby, though, yes?"

He sighed, "A little."

"So she _has_ grown on you."

"It's difficult not to love her a little when you do so so profusely."

"Do I do so profusely enough with you?" I asked, coming close for a kiss.

He placed one on my forehead, then trailed down my cheek until he reached my lips.

"More than I ever thought I would have," he told me, his voice frail with gratitude.

"I wanted to be sure of it."

I smiled again, and kissed him.

* * *

 **ERIK**

The baby was becoming, in a way, beautiful. I hadn't thought it possible. I thought any feelings I had for it would be due to Christine's love of the child. Now, however, I found myself almost drawn to little Viola. Her smiles became impossible to ignore, and when she did something new and exciting, Christine's delight was intoxicating.

We were permitted sleep now, too. That is, after the awful night we introduced her to her cradle. She settled in well after that, giving us almost six hours of sleep without interruption.

Christine was becoming less eager for lovemaking, though, so these hours were filled with _only_ sleep most nights. Perhaps it was best that we limited ourselves, but now she didn't even make an attempt to put aside time for it like she had before. It was as if she didn't have desires beyond kissing now. I certainly did, but I had long since made it clear in my mind that Christine was the deciding vote on anything that concerned her. If she wanted to embrace and kiss only, then I would have to be content. Why shouldn't I be, anyway, after a lifetime of nothing?

When I finally inquired as to why we had slowed, she replied simply that she hadn't felt like it recently, but if I required anything, she would provide it. I didn't want to be needy, though, I wanted _her_ to be, if anything. It wouldn't be the same if she wasn't as excited as I was.

"Why don't you feel like it?" I asked.

She shrugged, "Well, I was on my flowers last week, that's my excuse for then, but... I don't know. Maybe I've worn myself out for a time, and Viola keeps me busy still. Not as much as before, but far from what it was."

"Will your desire come back?"

"Are you concerned that I don't love you?"

"Answer my question."

"I'm certain my desire will return," she insisted, "maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a week. There's just a lull... But don't think I love you any less. I still adore you."

"I do, too."

"You adore yourself?" she teased.

"Christine-"

She laughed as I sighed. Viola whined for her mother, and thus, our conversation ended.

That night, while I was tossing and turning as quietly as I could, so as not to wake Christine, I had a strange desire to see the baby, to be sure she was alright. I slipped out of our bedroom and across the hall to the nursery.

I looked down into the cradle. Viola had untangled herself from being swaddled, and she was sprawled out in the middle of her bed. The night was cool for the summer, but she was wearing nothing but her diaper. I put a knitted blanket over top of her, and she made no sound. It was peaceful to watch her chest rise and fall.

Then her shut eyelids grew taut, and her face turned red and lined. Before I could even consider what I was doing, I placed my hand on her so that she wouldn't wake Christine. Viola stared up at me in confusion, then her face tightened again to scream, and I scooped her up the way Christine always did. My eyes went wide.

 _I was holding her!_ And it felt, this time... comforting. Powerful, even. She was helpless, so tiny and fragile. Not as much as before, but certainly still describable in that way. She was warm and heavy in my arms.

I knew I couldn't take her down the stairs for risk of dropping her, so I hoped she didn't require food. When she realized no milk was coming, though, she began to fuss and whine for her mother. I knew I had to wake Christine up then.

She shuffled down the hallway before I could turn to get her, though. She pushed open the door to the room, rubbing her bleary eyes. A few buttons on her nightgown had come undone in her sleep.

She nearly gasped at the sight of me, stunned to see me holding her child.

"Hello," she said. "W-what's wrong?"

"She was crying," I replied, offering the baby to her.

She rocked her. "She just needs to eat is all."

"I'll make it," I said, heading downstairs.

I heated the milk, tremors running through me. I didn't know why. My whole body was quaking, my eyes were stinging, my heart was pounding.

I couldn't love Viola. She would never love me back. Besides, I had to give all my love to Christine. There was no room for another, none. I couldn't love Christine as much with another in my heart.

When I brought up the milk, Christine was sitting in the rocking chair with Viola, the perfect image of a mother. She was smiling. She smiled often now, as Viola did so frequently, and it was impossible to resist.

Viola fell asleep after finishing half of the bottle. Christine set her back on her cradle, then came over to me and wrapped her arms about my middle.

"Thank you," she whispered.

I kept my eyes ahead so she wouldn't see me cry. I couldn't give my heart to two people, certainly not a baby that could devour it and give me nothing in return. Christine had been different, as I would gladly throw away my life should she want it. Viola wasn't worth my time yet. Would she be kind like Christine? Possess a sweet smile and a voice like honey?

The next day, however, I held her again, regardless of my fears. There was something comforting about her weight and warmth on my arm, and she was slightly less fragile than before. Christine was always delighted to see me in that position, and she made this known through kisses at first, before she went further, and I was only too happy to permit it. I hadn't done this for her praise, though, but for my own strange feelings for Viola.

Christine kept referring to me as "Papa" to Viola, even though she didn't understand a word. It had confused me at first, but now I secretly welcomed it. I had a daughter. Christine and I had a daughter. And if she wanted me to love our baby as well, then I would have to love both to the best of my capability.


	32. Chapter 32: Proximity

**ERIK**

It was August now. I had never understood why people were so passionate about summer, but then again, most of mine had been spent in a cool cellar. Now I was practically forced to love the season by Christine, who adored every part of nature. She took Viola outside often to set her down on a blanket in the grass, especially on days with a gentle breeze. Viola would then stare up at the sky, at the clouds and birds. Christine would talk to her about nothing in particular, but it was lovely to listen to. The minute Viola's focus turned to her eyes, though, or even me, she would giggle. We didn't know why, but she had developed a habit of either cooing or giggling whenever we made eye contact.

It was a strangely marvelous thing, her voice.

I wanted to interact with her more often, but I didn't know how to play with her. I also didn't want Christine to see me make a fool of myself. She was adorable when she played with Viola, with her sing-song voice and strange noises, but I couldn't imagine doing the same. I only shook a rattle in front of Viola for her to beam at, or simply held her. Both were pleasant, but I wished I could do more. It was like with Christine, how there was so much I wanted but I didn't know how to achieve it. I also didn't know how to ask for her help without sounding foolish as well.

There was something peaceful about having a child- that is, now that she slept longer and cried less. Christine and I barely argued anymore, and if we did, it was because we were tired and hardly knew why we were upset. What was nice about Christine, I had fully realized, is that she would not carry grudges; she was angry for a day at most. It was comforting to know that. Everyone I had known would never forget a single grievance. I could only forget those by Christine, of which there were practically none.

We were sitting on the sofa together one night, as we frequented. She was knitting for her little charity that had grown to six members, and I was holding Viola, who had fallen asleep with one hand dangling at her side. Her little lips kept puckering as she dreamed.

"Laura told me," Christine said, her eyes on her knitting, "there's a town quite close that we've never been to. We were talking about where we would send our children to school, you know, thinking too much in advance-"

"Why does Viola need to go to school?" I asked.

She looked up at me and blinked. "Because I want her to be educated, of course."

"No, yes of course, I meant... I can teach her."

"I... don't know if that's the _best_ idea."

"Why not?" I asked, wondering if she actually thought me a poor teacher. "I was a scholar-"

"Yes, but..." She searched for an explanation. "She will need friends."

"Laura's child," I offered.

"More than one, dear... I have no doubt you can teach her better than school, but you can't give her friends, teach her how to, well, get along with people... you know, practical things."

"I suppose not..."

"But we'll teach her music, of course, us two."

"What if she's not gifted, though?" The thought had been troubling me.

"Erik," she laughed, "anyone can play music if they practice enough."

"No, they cannot."

"Not music like _you_. But if she truly can't, then we'll find something else for her... Oh, also, about the town, Laura says a farm there makes excellent brie-"

"What's this town called?" I asked, already dreading the answer.

"Montmain."

"No. No, we can't go there. Viola will have to attend school in the city, if at all-"

"But Erik, why?"

"Why do you think?" I demanded.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "But you said you were born in Rouen."

" _Near_ Rouen."

"But... w-why are we so close, then?"

"Because I've tried to ignore it."

"That's not an explanation," she said, growing exasperated. "You weren't... planning on doing what you had thought of earlier, were you? Wanting an inheritance for revenge-?"

"I don't give a damn about that anymore."

"Please don't curse in front of me, you know I don't like it, especially with a child now."

"There are times when stronger words are needed."

"There are not. You can use 'I don't care' just as well."

"What I have been through deserves harsh words," I told her in a loud whisper, so as not to wake Viola. "And you've never made a fuss before when I curse! How was I supposed to know you didn't like it? And I reserve it only when necessary-"

"You should have asked me."

"Why didn't you ask _me?_ "

"Because I didn't want to cause an argument like this one! And it's more important now than my own personal feelings, I don't want Viola knowing words she should not!" She sighed angrily. "This isn't even what we should be discussing. Why are we so close to your childhood home? All those awful memories, why would you put us here when we're trying to start a new life?"

"I don't know."

"How could you not know?"

"You didn't know why you came with me at first."

"This is different! I'm trying to help you, and you put us right back with everything you hate! Why, unless out of spite or something else?"

"Why do you even care?"

"Because I love you and I don't want to be so close to your horrible past when we're trying to build a future."

"Then build it over my past. Drown it out."

She sighed, her face wan, "I just want to know _why_. After all this time, why? I should have brought it up before, but... Well, I don't know, either!"

I had my explanation, but I couldn't tell her in words at that moment. Viola was fussing by that point, fueled by our distress. Christine took her from me without a word and went upstairs. I heard the nursery door shut.

Was she upset with me? She must have been. I hadn't answered her. She was angry at me. What if this didn't go away? What if she would stop being kind and understanding? What if she wouldn't love me anymore? I had failed before now with her, but she always forgave me, she always forgave... What if she didn't this time?

Thus began the torments of my mind as I struggled to apply logic. Christine wouldn't abandon me. She wasn't cruel. She would always be kind, even if she didn't love me. She always forgave me, always, always...

The only reason we were so close to Montmain was because of this house. The other options had not been satisfactory, so I decided to ignore its proximity and give Christine the best home available. The reason we had come to Rouen in the first place was both because I wanted to go somewhere familiar, and also to see if I could have a bit of revenge. It was mostly that. I still wanted it now, secretly. I wouldn't murder, but steal or terrorize, certainly. They deserved it. They had forced me into a life that wasn't life at all. It was their fault that Christine had to teach me how to love her, instead of me simply knowing. I despised all of my family, as they were no family to me. They had hurt Christine through me.

It would be a fine satisfaction simply to spit on their graves, but Christine wouldn't let me. She would think that was wrong. Didn't she hate them as I did? Why had she kept me from taking my inheritance from the start, as if she wanted to be kind to the very people who had tormented me as a child?

Viola ceased crying. I heard Christine go into our bedroom and shut the door, and I knew I was not welcome. I couldn't be. She surely hated me now, if not for placing us here, then for saying a simple curse!

I spent a while in agony, unable to even bring music forth. I sat down in an armchair and thought until I cried, then I simply stared ahead.

That was when I heard her call my name from the stairs. I turned towards her, though I didn't want to face her.

"Aren't you coming to bed?" she asked, quietly so as not to disturb Viola. "It's cool enough tonight that we might be able to cuddle without drowning."

"Aren't you upset?" I replied, bewildered.

"Upset? Well... a little, but not really at you, at the both of us for remaining here when we could have gone anywhere else... though I _would_ like you to promise not to curse around Viola, ever."

"She's a baby-"

"But it's best to start now rather than later."

"Only around you, then, for matters that deserve it?"

"I cannot deny that your past deserves harsh words, but only when we discuss that subject in particular do I want you to use them." She came towards me, her hands folded in her nightgown. "But what about why we're here? So close to your childhood?"

"It was for the house," I admitted. "That was all, after the idea of revenge had run its course, it was the house. This one was better than the other choices, a-and I... wanted something nice for you, so I ignored where we were, and... that was all."

"Oh... but... why not go somewhere else than Rouen afterward? We should have left."

"I don't know. I suppose I was tired of traveling."

"We were quite exhausted... and you were still wounded."

"But you should be glad we're here," I insisted.

"Why?"

"We wouldn't have found Viola had we gone somewhere else."

She glanced upstairs, her lips parting. "I suppose not. It just sounds so hard for you. I didn't raise a fuss before because you didn't seem too affected by just living in Rouen, but your face went white when I said Montmain... I don't want you to be reliving your past is all."

"It's hard to relive it here, where everything is entirely different."

She smiled gently. "I'm glad for that, then."

"And I finished that nursery, so we can't move somewhere else."

"No, we can't. It's far too beautiful to leave behind."

Something inside me melted. "You like it so much?"

"Very much."

She wrapped her arms around my neck, or at least, she attempted to. I wanted to pick her up, but I was still wary of being too bold with her, even after all this time.

"Did you think I was angry with you?" she asked.

"I thought you might be," I replied.

"I'm never truly angry at you, but if I feel that way, it never lasts long. I'm mostly just annoyed sometimes, especially when you steal all the blankets-"

"I do not-"

"-and leave clothes on the floor-"

"I forget-"

"-and don't get me started on the crumpled up compositions _everywhere_ -"

"Inspiration comes and goes," I told her, growing confused as to whether she was being facetious or not.

She giggled, "I'm just teasing you. You try hard enough as it is."

"Trying and succeeding are very different."

She leaned her head against my chest and sighed, "I don't know... I feel like when you love someone, and you try your hardest, you succeed... And besides, you succeed at most things..."

I placed my arm behind her, scooping her up gingerly enough that she would be able to express her disdain. But she did not, as I should have known. She leapt into my arms and pressed her face against my chest again with her usual sigh.

To be honest, I liked doing the exact same thing with her when we entwined ourselves together in bed. It truly was cool enough tonight that we could do so, and I had been dearly missing it.

I carried her upstairs to our room. She then slid into bed and stared at me, her eyes bright.

"I need to change," I told her.

"I know," she said.

"Then why are you staring?"

"You stare at me. Why can't I at you?"

"Because you're beautiful," I told her, in disbelief at her confusion over the matter.

"I think you're beautiful."

"Don't say things like that."

"But it's true-"

"No, no, I mean... you'll make me cry."

"That's a good type of crying, and I would be only too happy to incite it. You know I keep handkerchiefs with me always, anyway."

"Could you at least blow out the candle?"

She turned to it, and her face fell. "I want to see you as you have me. I've put up with it for months now because I wanted you to feel comfortable with me first... But I... I've felt you in the dark, and now I want to see you in the light."

"You might not like what you see."

"But I love you, so that's impossible... Please, Erik, I want you to be more comfortable with me, and I want to see my husband."

"Tomorrow," I whispered. "Not today."

"Alright. Tomorrow... but may I see in the dark today?"

I hesitated, bewildered by her. "If you're so inclined."

The light extinguished. I knew the darkness hid all but my outline, but even that I wished to hide. What did she even want to see? I had strength in me from the life I had led, but any muscles had scars about them. Or what if she had another ideal for a man besides strength? What if she had a picture in her head of what she thought she had felt, what she wanted to see, and then was disappointed?

"I'm so tired," she yawned as I came over to her. "I'm so glad it's cool tonight."

I nodded, starting to rest my head on her chest. She held me away from her.

"Careful, I'm sore," she whispered.

"Sore? I didn't know it was your time."

"It's not. I haven't really had mine for a little while now due to anxiety. Viola wore me thin."

My heart plummeted. Why was she so calm? Didn't she know what this could mean? But we had taken every precaution we could!

"But I'm not with child," she added hastily. "Don't be concerned."

"How do you know?" I asked, my voice frail.

"No headaches or sickness in the morning. I heard my mother was terribly ill for her first few months, so I would be, too. And besides, I would know... Give me a kiss before you fall asleep, won't you?"

"Certainly."

"A long one," she added.

There were two types of warmth with those sorts of kisses. One could be described as being a flame, a bright, wild one. The other was more like the warmth from a fire. The latter was our kiss then. There was wonder in both forms, and though my preference had been for the former alone at first, now I adored both. In truth, I treasured every moment of affection between us, from holding hands to making love.

"Goodnight, my love," she whispered, pressing her lips to mine one last time.

"Goodnight," I replied.

She curled up on my chest instead of me on hers. I found myself staring up at the ceiling, contemplating as she fell asleep. She turned over at one point, away from me, and that was when I got up to walk around a bit. Perhaps that would clear my head.

My knees were still so weak from fear that I nearly fell upon sliding off the bed, but I stumbled out into the hallway, wondering how Christine continued to sleep after all that noise. She seemed to have not been disturbed, which was a relief.

I crept into Viola's room, foolish as that was. I found that she had kicked off her blankets, as usual, but she was quietly fussing. I was a bit confused by this, as she always slept soundly or not at all.

Her movements seemed languid. Something wasn't quite right with her, I could tell. I placed my hand on her and felt heat radiating from her little body.

Her cries became more distressed. I hurried downstairs to get her formula and a bit of laudanum for her. She likely just had a little illness, nothing concerning. She couldn't have come into contact with anything concerning. We never took her anywhere... save when Christine brought her to her friends. She had done that yesterday.

As I went upstairs, I heard Christine shuffling towards the nursery.

"I was having such a wonderful dream," she yawned. "What do you need, little Viola? Some food?"

"She's ill," I told her.

Her eyes widened. "Ill? What with?"

"I don't know. She has a fever."

"How high?" she said frantically.

"Just warm."

"Oh thank heaven, but poor thing," she whispered as she picked her up. "She's sleeping with us tonight, then, if she sleeps."

"I added some laudanum into her formula."

"That'll help... It's nothing serious, though?"

I didn't know yet, but I replied, "I doubt it."

She nodded, carrying Viola into our room. She prepared the drawer for her so we wouldn't roll onto her while we slept. I retrieved her stuffed rabbit as well, which she had grown fond of.

"Is she taking her milk?" I asked, as Christine had begun to feed her.

"Not eagerly," she replied, "but she is... I think she's nearly done, though."

Viola started to wail after being fed. Christine patted and rubbed her back, but she was squirming all the while. It took an hour before she settled, though she was still warm to the touch.

We slept for an hour before she woke us again. It was like that the rest of the following day, like a repetitious nightmare. The poor thing was sniffling and wailing, and even laudanum sometimes only made her whine instead of cry, though it was still better.

"Just a cold, then?" Christine asked me as she sat in the rocking chair with Viola.

"Yes, only a cold," I replied. "She should be fine in a day or two."

"Good, for her and our sakes. I'm exhausted... Could you play some music? If you're not too tired, that is. It might help soothe her, or at least drown her out a little, the poor thing."

"Music is medicine," I said as I headed downstairs for my violin.

When I returned upstairs, Viola was wailing again. I placed the violin beneath my chin as quickly as I could manage, then I played every soft melody I could think of. It worked better than the laudanum.

"She has a music heart," Christine said softly. "I can feel it."

"I can, too," I replied.

"I hope she feels better soon. This is miserable."

"That it is, for us both."

"Us three," she added.

"Yes, us three."

* * *

 **CHRISTINE**

It took two days until Viola was better, though her little nose still leaked. The poor dear had exhausted herself, though, and to Erik and my relief, she mostly slept the following day, which meant _we_ could sleep. When we weren't, we were reading or doing some other quiet activity, careful not to disturb her.

"I didn't appreciate sleep until we found her," Erik told me as he wove his hand through my hair.

"I'm glad for that," I replied, sitting up from his chest. "Could I go into the city for the afternoon while you stay with her?"

His eyes widened. "Alone? Why would you want to do that?"

"Sometimes being alone is nice."

"What did I do?"

I sighed, already having prepared myself for his usual response to such a thing, " _Nothing_."

"You say that, but you must want to get away for some reason."

"Yes, get away for a little while on my own... I love you, though. You know that."

"Just because you love me doesn't mean you are always happy with me... Is this about two days ago?"

" _No_. This is about me wanting some time to shop, maybe buy you and Viola something along with the groceries, see a friend. Most women go shopping alone, anyway. Their husbands have to work."

"Alright," he said. "Do whatever you want to."

I kissed him. "I'll be back by four, hopefully before then, though."

He clung to my hand for a moment before releasing me. He would enjoy the extra time alone with Viola, though, wouldn't he? It wouldn't be so terrible to have us separate for some time, like when I visited my friends.

But I wasn't going shopping first, or to see friends, and I already knew my true destination could be catastrophic.


	33. Chapter 33: Her

**CHRISTINE**

The moment I arrived in Montmain, my stomach grew unsettled. I knew this was a terrible idea, especially because of my hypocrisy, but I needed to see the woman that had nearly destroyed the man I loved. I wanted to know her as he did, and perhaps- though I knew it impossible- find her regretful. My soul wouldn't rest until I had seen her, though now it was trying to flee from this wretched place.

I didn't have a name for her, though. I didn't have a location. I didn't know where to begin. Then I realized I had one place to start: Erik's father had been a professor. He had told me about that, and so perhaps he had lived near a school.

Fortunately, none of that investigating mattered. I went into a shop selling random goods behind the counter, as I had need of new hairpins. There was a lady stocking shelves, and another speaking with a young nurse in a black dress and apron.

"How has Madame Picard been?" the lady asked the nurse, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face.

"The poor woman," the nurse replied. "Her son won't visit, and she still keeps seeing the man with half a face at night."

My ears pricked up. I was in disbelief.

The lady shuddered, "That's awful. What consoles her?"

"When I say her son is coming soon, but then sometimes she asks which. I can't understand it."

"Which? She only has one son now, I thought."

"You've heard the rumors. I don't know whether to believe them, but you know she has secrets to keep."

"I feel awful for her, though, especially since her son won't visit... Madame?" the lady said, noticing me. "My apologies, are you searching for something?"

"Hairpins," I replied, hardly able to believe my luck.

"Brown ones?"

"Yes, please. How many come in a packet?"

"Twenty."

"That should last a week, then," I joked.

She laughed lightly, "Yes, I can never find mine either..."

I paid for them, then waited outside for the nurse. I couldn't decide whether to follow her or talk to her, but the latter seemed the better option. What to ask, though?

The town was quiet. It was a languid summer day, and the few people that were out were sitting at cafés or strolling down the sidewalks. I enjoyed the atmosphere immensely, until I remembered where I was, and the air turned stale and bitter in an instant.

The nurse finally came out of the shop, a brown bag under her arm. She started walking towards me, and I knew I had to say something, quickly.

"Good afternoon, madame," I told her.

She stopped, evidently confused at who I was. "Good afternoon."

"I heard you too talking inside. I'm Madame Picard's niece and I wanted to visit her, but last time I came I was a little girl."

"Oh... Marguerite then, is it?"

How could I be so fortunate? Why had I chosen niece, anyway? "Yes, I didn't introduce myself, did I?"

"It's perfectly fine. She mentioned you once, in one of her ramblings," she glanced down the way. "I'm so glad you came. I fear she might leave us soon, and she's been so lonely."

"I'm glad I came then, too. I heard she wasn't well."

"Is the cart yours?" the nurse asked.

"Yes. Just tell me where to go."

We got up onto the seat, and she pointed ahead. I followed her directions for only a couple of minutes until we stopped at a large house. It was in the center of an overgrown garden with a black fence about it. The house was white, and it had nine windows in front at the top, and eight at the bottom, all bright and welcoming. It didn't suit a house of nightmares to be that way.

"I'll let her know you're here," she told me. "Just wait in the drawing room while I talk to her."

I followed her inside. Everything was perfectly placed, simple but elegant. It was the definition of a bourgeois house. The drawing room was emerald green with decadent furnishings, and on the walls hung a family portrait, then a few of individuals, mostly men. All were paintings save one of a young man and his wife. This man looked almost identical to Erik, had he been born without a deformity.

I nearly gripped my heart at the sight.

"I'll come get you in a moment," the nurse told me. "Make yourself comfortable."

I couldn't think to sit down. Had these been the same chairs Erik had known? Perhaps ones he had not been allowed to use? Had be been harmed in this very room? My stomach was writhing inside me at the thought.

The cellar. I remembered he had told me about the cellar, that he had been kept there. I knew I would lose my composure if I found it, so I remained where I was, standing still.

The nurse came downstairs. "She's doing quite well at the moment. She wants to speak with you alone- in the master bedroom, at the end of the hall... I'll make you two some tea."

I went upstairs, not touching the railing. I didn't want to touch any of this. My head was spinning.

When I entered the bedroom, I didn't know what to expect from the woman who had caused Erik so much pain. I pictured her having hard features, and two stone-cold eyes. Her upper lip would curl in disdain at the smallest slight, her hands would be like claws, her hair pulled taut upon her head.

Instead, I found her broken and withered, her hair sparse and a dull gray. Her eyes were milky blue. Her skin had the same appearance as my father's on his final day: dim, almost ghost-like in hue.

How could I be remembering my kind father in the presence of this cruel woman?

"Marguerite?" she said, in a surprisingly calm and crisp voice. "I haven't seen you since you were five years old, on Christmas Eve. What gift did I give you that year? I can't seem to remember, what a long time ago that was..."

"Madame," I replied, knowing I couldn't lie well enough for this, "I'm afraid I'm not your niece. I'm your daughter."

"Daughter?"

"I'm married to your son."

A bit of light came into her sickly features. "Oh, where is he? Where is Guillaume? Why has my mind played such silly tricks that I would think you're my niece? I had been hoping you would visit, after you sent your letter-"

"I'm not married to your youngest."

She blinked. "W-who, then?"

"I'm married to Erik."

"Erik?" she asked, showing no sign of recognition. "Who's Erik?"

"The man with half a face that you see at night. Your son that you put through hell."

Her breathing grew frail and labored. "No... no, no, that can't be. He's dead."

"He's very much alive."

"Did you bring him here?" she asked, trembling all over with fright. "Is he with you? Have mercy, child!"

"I'm alone," I told her, my heart offering up some pity for her fear. "I promise I am, and I will not tell him about this."

"Oh... you must be, or else I would be dead by now... But how did you have the misfortune to... marry him, you said? You poor dear."

"I love him," I said, the pity from earlier dissipating. "And I have come here to find out why you did not."

She looked to my left, then back towards me, but just above my head. Then she said, "I suppose, since I'm going to die soon, I have no reason for silence. I've had enough of silence. There are rumors already, most full of truth, and confessions are good for the soul... My mother never told me her secrets before she died, but I must before I can, I think... And I have no reason to die with them."

She inhaled raspily. "My husband, from the first day of our marriage, had always told me that he wanted sons who were eager to learn. He was a professor, and an esteemed one at that. I assumed, with his intellect, this was something I could easily achieve for him. I loved him then and only wanted to please him, but... I had three sons, three beautiful sons, that had no more capacity than I for books and science. I loved them, and they were all quite handsome, but he never devoted his time to them. He kept himself in his study, with his mind to occupy himself. Every time I became with child, I hoped that the next might have some aptitude, as I wanted to give my husband his one, reasonable wish.

"Then _he_ was born," she visibly shuddered. "I nearly died giving birth, and when I saw him, I wish I had. I felt no love for him. There had always been this... motherly urge to protect the moment I heard my child cry, but I felt none of that. There was only fear gripping my heart, and disgust. His cry was an unearthly shriek. And, most of all, while my other sons had been beautiful, with a patch of blonde hair on their heads and rosy cheeks, he was _anything_ but. And yet my husband wouldn't let me abandon him. He made me nurse the horrid thing, hold that face to my breast. I can hardly imagine how I did it now.

"When he was a boy, no more than five years old, he taught himself how to read with my husband's books. I tried to hide this from him, but he found out and decided to teach the boy. Imagine!" She coughed like she had gravel in her throat. "Of... a-all the perfect sons I had given him, he wanted that one to devote himself to. He bought a mask for him to wear, but he hid him, as we all did. No one knew he existed. How could they? It would ruin us, mostly me, for delivering such a thing... We kept him in the attic, but when he was obstinate- which was always- I kept him in the cellar. He wasn't violent in the usual way that boys are, though. He didn't fight with his brothers, though they hated him as much as I did, or tease animals. He hurt, purposefully. There was no rough playing. It was all intended to harm. He would bite us, swing at me if I told him to do anything. He would scream and storm about like he was possessed. Nothing we did made a difference. Beatings only made him worse. He was only well-behaved when learning at my husband's side. He devoured books, often choosing them and a candle over sleep. We made sure to give him as much as he wanted to keep him calm, and we gave him a wide berth.

"Then he became fascinated by our piano. He was no more than ten years old then- ten and already brighter than any of my other sons. I was with child again at that time, so I was less patient with him, though no amount of patience could last against that child.

"He came down in the middle of the night to pound on the piano keys. He woke us all up, but instead of letting me get a stick to make him smart, my husband applauded him. None of us had any knowledge of music but my husband, who taught him how to read it. The boy was even more gifted at music than learning. He grew arrogant and prideful then, more than before. He stopped showing my husband respect, as his talents now surpassed my husband's, and the boy often tormented my sons. There were traps set out for us, and often he would find the cyanide we used for the rats, and try to poison us. He put it in the flour, but I knew he had done something, so I fed the food to the cat first. She grew terribly ill.

"But that wasn't the worst. We still kept him then, kept him in the cellar with his books for company, but no music. I forbade him that joy unless he behaved. He didn't understand what that meant... But the worst thing," she shook her head at the memory and shuddered. "When I had my youngest, the monster tried to smother him with a pillow. That was when I truly began to think him a demon, though I have no supernatural beliefs.

"I threw him out then, though, for trying to murder my infant son. Imagine!" She coughed again with the exertion of her words. "Killing a baby! An innocent, perfect little baby! My husband was out that night, so he couldn't stop me, nor would he. The boy was a danger to my family, too much to be kept now. I told him that if he ever came back... I told him I would kill him. And I meant it.

"He ran away with nothing, and I prayed that he would get eaten by wolves or something of the sort, maybe starve to death. My youngest turned out bright like him, though, but not in music. My husband was much happier with him as a prodigy. My other sons became soldiers, but they volunteered for every brave mission requested of them, so now they are buried in the churchyard up on that hill over there. My nurse puts flowers on their graves now that I can't... And that is your husband's childhood, what little of one he chose to have."

I hated her. Before, if I felt an inkling of hate, I could subdue it. Nothing could do that now. I felt no pity for her, nothing but burning coals inside me as I met her cloudy gaze. How could she be so blind to her own cruelty? Erik had been violent and horrible because that was all he saw! He didn't know how to love, how to respect someone, how could she expect that of him, then? How could she be so blind?

"How could you?" I whispered.

"It wasn't my fault he turned out like that," she replied. "I did my best."

"Your best? You locked him in _cellar_. You didn't show him an ounce of love!"

"Love? The way he behaved, and how he looked, how could I love him?"

"Because you're his mother!"

"You don't know the hell I went through," she told me bitterly, as if that defended her actions. "Fearing for my life and the lives of my sons-"

"You witch!" I snapped, more furious than I had ever been. "You know nothing of hell. Thanks to you, he's likely headed there! You handled him so carelessly, of course he made you fear! How else would he have any control over his life? You're the reason he lived a life that was no life at all, thinking himself a monster, struggling to survive. He was in a cage for some of his life, a cage!"

"He tried to murder my son and my family!" she retorted, coughing from the strain of trying to shout back.

"Because you as good as murdered him! He didn't know any better than to get rid of the people causing him so much pain! You beat him when he misbehaved, but did you ever reward him when he was good?"

"Reward him? He was never good enough for that. And even so, he was already rewarded with books-"

"But not from you, his _mother_."

She blinked, and her brow furrowed. "You can't judge me, girl. You are a poor enough judge of character, as can be seen from your marriage and your twisted understanding of love."

Was this what Erik had felt? This uncontrollable rage? No wonder he had been so volatile at first! I was nearly bursting with it. Why could she not realize the truth that was staring her in the face?

"I came here hoping," I said, "beyond hope, that I might be able to forgive you. I wanted to find you regretful of what you did. But now, against everything I have been taught, I _will_ judge you, and I find you to be exactly as Erik described."

"Forgive me? Judge me? What has he told you? He was always telling lies-"

"Everything you just told me, about your cruelty towards him."

"I tried to teach him," she insisted. "He wouldn't be taught right and wrong, so I had no choice but to be harsh."

"I'm sure you think you tried many things, but all you taught him is that life is a struggle for survival, and I am undoing all of that, piece by piece."

"You act like I did something wrong," she said, stunned. "I did what anyone would do with an irrational child, especially one that is ugly and volatile-"

"Keep him hidden away in a cellar? Without the slightest bit of affection? Only a monster would do that."

"It wasn't my fault! I couldn't love him!" she pleaded, finally showing the barest trace of regret as she entered a coughing fit. "And certainly not a-after he became a terror to the household."

"Did you ever kiss him as a baby?"

"That horrible face?"

"Did you ever praise him for anything? Show him anything but hatred and cruelty?"

She faltered. "I couldn't. I didn't love him."

"But you didn't try."

"He was _impossible_ to love. He did nothing worth loving."

"But when he was a baby, what did he do that was so horrible then?"

"He existed," she retorted. "I told you, I simply couldn't love him. No one can."

"Evidently you're wrong, and I am proof of that... We even have a child."

Her glassy eyes widened so far I feared they might fall out. "A-a child? Have mercy-"

"She's the most beautiful little girl I've ever seen."

"You had a child with him? You actually...?"

It was a small lie. "And I'm going to be a mother to her like you never were to him."

"She's beautiful, though, so that doesn't give you a right to judge me."

"I didn't mention her appearance. But Erik is just as beautiful to me, and he would have been to you, had you given him the barest trace of love. I would have loved him from the very beginning if you had, instead of having to realize he didn't want to be the monster you created, and then helping him put himself back together again."

I slammed the door behind myself as I left. The nurse was standing at the top of the stairs, her eyes wide.

"Madame?" she whispered.

"Not a word of this, please," I told her.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear-"

"To anyone, not like you did earlier at the store... I'll even pay you."

Her eyes lit. "How much?"

"I don't know how much silence is worth, but I can spare fifty francs."

"That'll do it, madame," she told me as I placed them in her hands. "Good day."

"Good day."

I left, greatly distressed by it all. I had expected more of his mother. She wouldn't even admit her cruelty. She was blind and ignorant to all of it, with excuses for every act. Perhaps I had expected her to own her crimes, but she acted as if she was justified, just because she "couldn't love him." She never even made an attempt.

It was the first time I couldn't find it in my heart to forgive someone. Part of me was upset by it, but another part thought her unworthy of it. Could I ever forgive her if she would not apologize for her actions, or at least show remorse? All I could do was pity her for her shallowness and ignorance.

I went home wondering how I would keep this from Erik, especially now that I had no money left for buying groceries.


	34. Chapter 34: The Return

**ERIK**

I was having a surprising amount of fun on my own with Viola. She was laughing at everything I did, and I had no reason not to be foolish with her now that Christine was gone. I hoped she would be home soon, though. It was too quiet without the sound of her voice, and it wasn't home without her there. I longed for her voice, her gentle words, and the way she surprised me with kisses and embraces.

I kept glancing out the window and at the clock, desperate for time to fly by. Then I would look at Viola's smile and be confused for a moment at whether I wanted that time gone or not. But yes, certainly I did.

"I'm not a dog, Viola," I told her sternly. "You cannot throw things and expect me to fetch them for you."

She did so anyway, consumed with giggles. I sighed and retrieved her stuffed bunny.

"I suppose you can," I said, smiling in spite of myself.

Then she made a face, and I sighed irritably at what that could mean. I always thought it ridiculous to smell her, as Christine did, but now I had to, and I found my suspicions were true. Could she at least wait until Christine arrived to take care of that?

She started bawling, so evidently not, and I had to take care of the soiled cloth and replace it. Christine always did so, but I had watched her enough that I could do it myself. I feared poking the child with the safety pin, though, but this did not occur.

"Are you happy now?" I asked.

Viola bit down on her stuffed rabbit's ear in reply.

"That must taste delicious," I told her.

She reached out for me like she was trying to fly.

"Play down there. I don't need to hold you all the time."

She fussed. Evidently I was wrong.

"You are too needy," I informed her as I scooped her up. "You need to learn how to be on your own sometimes. You exhaust your poor mother... When will you talk? She'll love that, when you call her 'mama...' You know, you are quite fortunate to be found by her, of all people. Most would have sent you away, but not her. She has too big a heart for her own good... but I like you somewhat too, now, though you still do hardly anything save stare with those beautiful eyes of yours. Christine's are more beautiful, but yours are close, I would say."

It was nice to talk to someone who couldn't talk back or remember what one was saying. It was like thinking aloud.

"I think it's time for your nap," I told her, handing her the stuffed rabbit.

She plopped it back into her mouth, soaking it through. I let her struggle to consume it for a moment before taking her into the nursery. I set her down in her cradle. She began to fuss and whine immediately.

"You have no right to complain," I told her. "I wished I had as pleasant of sleep as yours is."

She started bawling. I left and shut the door. Christine would never let her cry herself out, but I thought it a fine way to do it... so long as she ceased within ten minutes or so. I had started pitying her after the first five, though.

It took four tries of this before she finally relented. I shut the door silently, then went back downstairs to occupy myself with something besides her.

There wasn't anything, though. Now I simply stared at the clock. Had it grown slower? How was it not three yet? She said she would arrive before four, and the way she cared about my loneliness, I hoped it would not be long after three.

Had she been delayed, perhaps? Was she enjoying being alone more than when she was with me? Had she met anyone? Hopefully a woman, but what about a man? Was she speaking to a man? What if she grew fond of him? What if she didn't come back?

It was before three when I heard the cart roll across the dirt road. I exhaled in relief.

I had barely reached the door when Christine came rushing in. Her hair was windblown, her cheeks flushed, and before I could say a word, she had wrapped herself about my middle, tightly enough to force air from my lungs. Her breaths became choked with sobs, and, after my confusion had worn off, my blood boiled over.

"Who hurt you?" I demanded, my pulse roaring in my ears. "I'll tear him apart! Or her! Was it one of your friends? Did they say something wrong about you?"

"No one," she whispered. "No one h-hurt me."

"Then why do you cry?" I pleaded, making my voice as soft as I could.

"I have done something..." she swallowed, "rather... terrible... so terrible a-and... hypocritical, I..."

I cupped her face with my hands. "Nothing you do is ever terrible... but what _did_ you do?"

"I..." Her eyes were overflowing as they met mine. "I lied to you."

My heart skipped a beat. "Lied...? About what? Where did you go?"

She tugged on her sleeve.

"Where did you go?" I demanded.

"I had to know," she explained, "and more than just hear from you."

"Then you went to Montmain?" I whispered, horrified.

"Montmain... a-and then your home there."

"I have no home there, but how did you find it?"

"Her nurse. That terrible woman's nurse."

"You met her," I said, stunned. "You met her, and you didn't tell me? You didn't think to ask?"

"I couldn't rest until I had seen her. I knew you wouldn't let me, but I wanted to know her as you did, a-and know you better by knowing, and... Oh, I wish I had never gone!"

"What did she tell you? What happened?"

"Well... I lied that I was her niece at first, then I told her the truth, and she told me everything she had done to you, like it was your fault for being born how you were. She went on and on about how you were some horrible child that couldn't be controlled, but she didn't realize that was her fault, even though it was plain as the nose on her face. I tried to explain to her, reason with her, but she understood nothing."

"There are people who cannot be reasoned with. Most, in fact."

"But I didn't know how hard it could be to forgive a person until now," she told me, embracing me again.

I felt inclined to laugh. "She doesn't deserve your forgiveness, my dear. She doesn't even deserve to be near you, much less speak to you."

"But it's wrong not to forgive. It's wrong to hate... Oh, Erik, I hate her! I've never hated someone before, not where I can't find a reason not to. I don't know what to do! If she had been regretful, then it would be easy, but the things she said, without any knowledge of how wrong they were... how cruel she was to you..."

"What did you say back?" I asked, hopeful.

"I shouted at her," she admitted. "I shouted at a fragile old woman on her deathbed, that was how angry I was. I should regret that, and I do a little, but what she did... and how she _said_ it... I was so upset by it all that I lied that Viola was ours, and she acted like she was _sickened_."

"She would be..."

"I don't regret a word I said, but I should. I was horrible to her! I called her a witch, I told her it was all her fault, but it didn't matter, she didn't care. Nothing I said made any difference, not like you... Are you upset?"

I looked down into her eyes. "No... because now you feel the same as I do for that creature."

"At least there's that," she said, relieved. "I'm so sorry for deceiving you. But... I would ask... she said you tried to kill them? I didn't believe her, but...?"

"They kept me locked in a cellar. What else could I do to escape?"

"They didn't... let you leave?"

"And have people find out about me? You think I would have stayed willingly? I had books to read! I knew there was a world outside, where I wouldn't be hurt and afraid. I knew there were opera houses full of music, libraries stuffed with even more books than my father's collection. I knew they were keeping me away from the world outside."

"But... the baby, Erik, did you try to hurt a baby? Did they ruin you so much?"

I felt my lips twitching with rage. "I don't want to speak of it."

I realized we needed to cease this discussion, quickly. Christine was trembling as she clung to me, and her eyes were still leaking precious tears.

"But that's all over now," I told her. "I don't even remember it most of the time when I'm here, with you... and Viola."

She nodded. "I'm so glad for that."

I kissed the top of her head, and she sighed into me. We remained like that for some time, wrapped in each other's arms.

"Will you forgive me, though?" she asked eventually. "For deceiving you?"

"Forgive you?" I said, unsure if I had the right to do such a thing. "I... suppose so."

"I won't do it again."

"I know..." But a part of me doubted her now.

She glanced upstairs. "Is Viola sleeping?"

"As of fifteen minutes ago."

"Thank you. You're so good with her, and to me."

"I strive to be."

She pulled my lips down to hers, wrapping her arms about my neck. She kissed me relentlessly.

"I missed you so much," she sighed. "I'm never leaving you like that again."

"Except for visiting your friends."

"That's different. That's scheduled, this was on a whim- and an awful whim, at that. Besides, I take Viola with me then so that you can compose."

"You do..."

"Oh, kiss me again," she pleaded.

I bent down for her lips, which she pressed against mine. Her arms wrapped around me again, pulling me close.

"I love you," I told her.

"I love you, too, more than anything."

"Even Viola?"

"Oh, well, the same as her, then."

My heart plummeted. The same? Why the same? Why not more?

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Your face says differently."

"My face says 'ugly.'"

"That's not funny. It does not. It's the face of the man I love, which is now sad and pensive. Why?"

I glanced up towards the nursery. "You love me the same as her."

"She's my daughter and you're my husband. I suppose, if I'm honest, I love you more, but I have to say that I love you both the same."

"Oh... good."

"More kisses."

"Anything more than just kisses?"

She laughed lightly. "Not right now. I'm a little drained, though I would happily take a nap with you."

I agreed.

* * *

 **CHRISTINE**

After dinner, Erik and I played with Viola for a time. It was so strange how he had gone from wanting hardly anything to do with her, to seeking out opportunities to hold her and give her toys. That was the only playing he did with her, toys. He wouldn't speak to her in a silly voice like I did, but I knew he must whenever I wasn't around.

"I think we should all go into the city together tomorrow," I told him, bouncing Viola in my arms to make her smile.

"Don't you have your charity tomorrow?" Erik asked.

"Not tomorrow. Monday."

"Oh."

"A-and speaking of that, in a way... Well, Laura goes to a Protestant church in the city, and she has invited me to attend on Sunday. Would you be fine with that?"

"I would stay home with Viola again?"

"Or you could... come."

"I don't belong in a church, my dear."

"Then don't think of it as a church, for you. Think of it as a societal expectation, that married couples especially attend church every Sunday."

"I refuse. You may do as you please, though."

"I understand," I sighed. "But I can bring Viola, unless you want to watch her again."

His eyes revealed how conflicted he was with admitting he wanted her to remain here, so I helped him.

"It would be better to leave her here," I said. "She might be disruptive."

"Then I will watch her for you," he replied.

"You get to spend more time with Papa!" I told Viola, who beamed at me in reply. "Won't that be fun? Did you like this morning?"

She reached out to grab my cheek. I turned back to Erik and found him gone.

"Oh," I said softly to myself, then I turned back to Viola. "Well, I suppose you're tired anyway. Time for bed, my little angel?"

I went upstairs to lay her down. She started squirming the minute she realized where we were going.

"Song first, remember?" I told her. "Just me tonight, though."

I sat down with her in the rocking chair. She let me tuck her up into my arms, against my chest. I rocked us back and forth, beginning to sing a Swedish lullaby my mother had taught me when I was little, and then my father had repeated when she was gone. Viola's eyelids grew heavy. I kissed her forehead.

What was the mother who bore her doing now? I often wondered this, how that woman could live knowing her child might be dead and not surrounded by love. The happiness I experienced from Viola should have been hers. It frustrated and confused me to think of, as she could have at least left her child somewhere to be found.

Viola's eyes shut as I began another song. The door creaked, and I turned to see Erik entering.

"She's almost asleep," I whispered, then I continued singing.

Erik leaned against the wall, tilting his head a little at me, his features blissful and relaxed like Viola's. I stood up and brought her over to her cradle.

"Please stay asleep," I whispered.

Erik chuckled.

She lied down for a moment, silent and still. Then, as Erik and I turned to leave, her eyes opened wide and she began to scream in panic. I hurried to pick her up again.

"You should let her cry sometimes," Erik told me.

"There's no reason to," I retorted. "The poor little thing..."

"She has to learn how to be on her own sometimes-"

"She's a _baby_. She thinks we're going to not come back!"

"My dear, you don't know that-"

"But I'm not risking doubting it," I told him, leaning her against me. "Shh, darling, another song, maybe?"

She settled down after that and lied down without a fuss. I shut the door as I left with Erik. He brushed his hand over my waist.

"Not tonight," I told him. "This day drained me considerably... I would love to play music, though."

"Then we will play music," he agreed.

"Why did you disappear, though?"

"Disappear...?" he asked, rubbing his arm. "Inspiration."

"Was it because I called you Papa? I say that all the time."

"And all the time I die inside."

"In a good way?" I asked, a little concerned.

"Yes, the same way as when you kiss me."

"Do you want some of those kisses now?" I teased.

"Always."

I covered him in them until he melted. Then he began to cry, as he was accustomed to do when overwhelmed. And now I knew just how overwhelmed he must feel.

"Everything is so wonderful," he whispered into me.

"It certainly is at the moment... though I apologize for trying to ruin it this morning."

"You ruined nothing," he replied. "L-let's go play music now."

I entwined my arm in his as we went to the piano. He was still collecting himself.

"Oh!" I thought aloud. "I forgot, you promised for me to see you tonight."

His face fell. "I did..."

"Why not tomorrow morning instead?" I offered. "We've never made love in the morning."

"For obvious reasons."

"But would you want to do that?"

"I... I would, yes, I suppose."

I wrapped my arms about him. "Then tomorrow morning."

I leaned against the piano in the fashion of a diva.

"What piece, maestro?" I asked.

"Whichever you prefer, my angel."

"You always let me choose. Why don't you tonight?"

He swallowed. "Well... I do have a piece I wrote yesterday for you."

"An entire piece?" I asked, incredulous.

" _Finished_ yesterday, I mean, but I did work on it then as well. It's a duet for your voice and the violin."

"That sounds absolutely wonderful." I glanced at the piano and picked up a score. "Is this it?"

"Yes. Look over it before we start. I wanted it to challenge you."

"Challenge me? If you've changed the key signature in the middle I swear..." I glanced at it. "Yes, you have."

"The feeling at the end is supposed to be a dramatic change. How else would I accomplish that?"

I pouted playfully, "Any other way but that... I'm teasing, though, I have no doubt it's lovely. Shall we, then?"

"I'll retrieve my violin."

He went to take it out of its case. I began to hum the melody under my breath, then I ran up and down a few scales.

"Ready, my love?" he asked me.

"Always, my love," I replied.


	35. Chapter 35: Last Words

**CHRISTINE**

I woke to find Erik sitting at the edge of the bed, his hands folded between his knees. His eyes were glazed over with thought, but not as if he was daydreaming. He was thinking upon something of deep significance, as there was a melancholy aspect to his eyes.

I reached out to tug playfully on his nightshirt. "Good morning," I told him, smiling.

He turned to me, his expression blank, then he nodded. My face fell.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Dreams... thoughts... I fed Viola, she's lying in her cradle now."

I stretched out my arms above my head, clasping my hands together. "Thank you... I'm sorry you're so troubled, though... Maybe a bit of lovemaking would help? We agreed on this morning, didn't we-?"

"I'm too distracted," he replied, running a hand over his deformity.

"What about, my love?"

He looked at me for a moment, as if contemplating something, but I couldn't imagine what.

"I'll tell you later," he said. "But now I've gone and changed my mind. You're far more distracting than the thoughts in my head."

I beamed. "Oh, good. I was disappointed... May I, then?"

"No," he told me hastily, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat before I could. "I will do it myself."

"I have seen some of your chest," I said, hoping to reassure him, "when I had to stitch you up."

"That was my side."

He started on his shirt. I kicked my legs rhythmically where I sat beside him. This might be the last thing he had to conquer with me, his fear of being seen, and therefore being vulnerable. He still had difficulty with that, and he likely always would.

Once he removed his shirt, I saw what I had expected to see. I had mapped out his scars in the dark, especially the knotted ones on his back that I couldn't bear to think about. There was also the wound from the bullet, and it appeared whiter than the others. Many were identical to this one, scattered about his body like paint on a canvas. He was strong too, though, beneath them. I placed my hand against his chest and remembered how afraid I had been of his strength at first, while now I took refuge in it.

"I love you so much," I whispered, seeking out his eyes. "Thank you for being brave for me... Now it's my turn."

I was so glad Viola didn't cry as much as she had before, as we were not interrupted. Erik still seemed distracted, though. There was a fog in his eyes that even my multitude of kisses couldn't dissipate, nor any amount of bliss. I pretended not to notice.

We went outside afterwards with Viola, as we frequented. I did laundry while Erik sat with her on the checkered blanket, simply watching, though his mind remained elsewhere. She giggled up at him, waving her arms for attention. He gave her his finger to hold, and smiled gently, but that was all.

"Could you fetch me a few more clothespins?" I asked him as I hung up the laundry on the line.

He nodded and went inside. I put my hands on my hips and walked over to Viola.

"Trying to steal my man, are you?" I teased, leaning over her. "I wish you would try a bit harder, you know. He still doesn't adore you as much as I do."

I sat down and set her in my lap. She could hold her head up now for a little while, which she liked to show off to us, and she did so now. She jerked a little, her little body unsteady.

"What a big girl you are," I told her, then I glanced at the door. "Why is Papa taking so long with the clothespins, hm? Well, you be real nice to him today for me. Smile at him all the time, he likes that very much. I fear he's not well."

I kissed the top of her head. She cooed in reply and kicked her legs excitedly.

The front door opened just then. Erik came out with a handful of clothespins in his fist. His eyes were no longer distracted, though, but clear and sure. I knew he was going to tell me something, the way he walked over to me with determination in his eyes.

"I want to see her," he said firmly.

"Of course," I replied, holding up Viola. "She wants to see you, too-"

"No, not her..." he insisted, hesitating. " _Her._ "

I set Viola back in my lap. She gurgled.

"Your mother?" I asked, stupefied. "Why? Is this about your inheritance?"

"I want her house," he replied. "I want that house is all. No money, no heirlooms, just that horrible mass of bricks."

I nodded, and he relaxed in surprise, as if he hadn't expected me to agree. "I will do whatever you need me to... but not revenge. Is this still revenge?"

"No, it isn't. I promise you, it's not like I wanted before. But I need your help, so long as she is still alive."

"I am happy to help, though I insist I come with you."

He cupped my face and kissed my forehead. "I need you with me, of course. I couldn't do it alone, not so much as enter that awful place... We need to leave soon, though, and take Viola with us. She already knows about her anyway. Maybe she'll be helpful for persuading her."

"Get the cart ready," I told him. "I'll finish hanging up the laundry."

I deposited Viola on the blanket and we went to our respective tasks. Soon the horses were hitched up, and Erik and I were seated with Viola, who was excited by the prospect of a journey. She must have thought we were going to see my friends, if her mind was able to wrap around such a thing yet. She always loved visiting them and being the center of attention.

We started towards Montmain. Viola began to fuss after five minutes or so, as she always did once the road turned bumpy. I rocked her in the hope of providing a new sensation, but she continued bawling.

"Didn't we bring something for her to suck on?" I asked Erik.

"I don't think so, we left in such a hurry. We can buy her another one once we get there."

I nodded. Viola began to kick and squirm.

"Oh, why won't she stop?" I pleaded. "Normally the rocking calms her down."

"Try singing."

"You try. She responds to your voice better."

"Fine, fine."

He began to sing "Au Clair de la Lune," but it made no difference. She was kicking now, and still bawling her lungs out. I tried to have her suck on my finger, but she refused.

"Should we turn back?" I asked.

"We're halfway there... Do any of your friends live around here, perhaps?"

"No, they're all quite close, save the new members, but I don't know them very well yet."

"Well do _something_ , you're the mother."

"That doesn't mean I can perform miracles!"

"Well now we're shouting, that will certainly calm her down!"

"Oh, please, Viola!" I said, rocking her with desperation. That only further increased her distress; everything only further increased her distress.

"And you want to have another?" Erik demanded irritably.

"Oh don't bring that up now, we need to be calm and collected soon."

"That's difficult with her screaming in my ear."

"Erik, would you please stop?"

"Why must she cry like this?"

"Maybe because _someone_ forgot her stuffed rabbit."

"Who brought her into the cart, me or you?"

"Well, you could have _checked_ -"

"So could you."

I sighed irritably. I placed Viola on my shoulder and began rubbing her back, hoping perhaps that would soothe her. To our surprise, she quieted immediately.

"Thank God," I said.

"We're almost there," Erik told me, sighing in relief.

"Can I have a 'thank you, my dear?'"

"Thank you, my dearest."

"Oh, I like that very much, too..."

I spotted the town in the distance. Erik stiffened more and more as we approached, squaring his shoulders and gritting his teeth. When we entered, I found there were more people out now, and the cafés were preparing for lunch, though it was still rather early. The church bells chimed from the center of the town.

"Do you..." I faltered, "know where to go, dear?"

The blood had drained from his face. "How could I forget."

I reached for his hand. "I'm with you. Try to be calm as best you can. Anything you need, just ask."

"I'm going to buy Viola something first to keep her quiet."

He stopped us in front of a corner store and went inside. I took Viola off my shoulder in order to rock her.

"Why don't you take a nap?" I advised. "You like to sleep this time of day, or are you too excited from earlier?"

She whined. I sang a lullaby to her in Swedish, which calmed her until Erik came back with an empty bottle for her to suck on. I held it in her mouth until she took it.

We continued toward his house, if it could be called that. I suddenly remembered that his last name was Picard. Had he rejected it? I expected so, but regardless, I certainly didn't want to be Christine Picard. It didn't sound quite right.

"We're here," he whispered, staring at the house with fear in his eyes, as if it towered before him.

"We are," I agreed, squeezing his hand. "We can do this."

He nodded, then he helped me out of the cart. I knocked on the front door, as he could do little more than stare at it.

The nurse answered. She gasped in surprise, her eyes widening as she found Erik. "Madame? I-Is... i-is that-?"

"Is your mistress well enough to see us?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Oh no, madame. She received a letter this morning that her son had died. Her..." she glanced at Erik, "last son. I doubt she'll last much longer, the poor woman... and we thought he was coming to visit after all this time... Come inside. Promise you won't excite her."

"My husband wants his inheritance is all. It's his right. We might not even need to speak with-"

"I want to speak with her," Erik said, turning to me with fire in his eyes. "I will speak with her."

"Y-yes," the nurse said. "Come upstairs, but please be considerate, not like last time. I can't condone such a thing... Do you want me to hold the baby for you?"

"No," he replied sternly. "And do not disturb us."

"Monsieur-"

"I'll make sure everything is fine," I reassured her.

"Please pity the poor woman."

"We do... I-I do, I mean."

We ascended the stairs to her room. Erik knew where to go without my guidance, though I had to open the door. His eyes had glazed over.

"Nurse?" the woman croaked as we entered. "My tea?"

"It's me again," I told her.

"Oh... my son's wife?"

"Erik's wife, yes."

"Who's Erik? I mean Guillaume, my dear little Guillaume."

"Erik is your other son. We spoke the other day. I'm his wife... the man with half a face?"

Erik's fist clenched at his side as she answered, "My memory fails me now... I don't even fear that man anymore. He was only a boy when a knew him, a mad little boy with half his face rotting like a corpse..."

Viola cooed. The woman's clouded eyes widened.

"Is that a baby?" she whispered.

"Our baby," I replied.

"Let me touch her."

"Erik wants his inheritance. Your only living son wants his right. I need you to agree to give it to him, and your nurse can be our witness."

"But it's for Guillaume."

"He's dead," Erik said, almost growling. "I'm all you have now. Are you too stupid to understand that? He is dead."

"N-no... n-no, he can't be," she pleaded pitifully. "It can't be true, it can't, it can't... I won't believe it..."

"I'm sorry," I told her. "I am truly sorry for that..."

"The baby, let me hold the baby."

"You're too weak, madame-"

"Please, I miss my babies."

Erik grabbed my arm as I started over to her. "No," he told me. "Don't let her touch her."

"Erik, she's dying, she's lost her son, have some mercy-"

"Mercy? To this creature?"

"Poor little thing," the woman croaked out absentmindedly, as if she hadn't heard a word we said. "Why did he have to be so ugly? Why did he have to be so bright? Poor little thing... I couldn't even look at him... and then he went mad when he saw himself... poor little thing... he went mad when I showed him the mirror, I should have never showed him that mirror... never, never... the poor little thing... and he grew into such a horrible monster..."

"Tell me it was your fault," Erik demanded without warning. "Tell me!"

"I should have never shown him the mirror..."

"Mother, say that you ruined my life! Say that it's your fault I turned into a monster of a child who tried to kill his own baby brother!"

"It was my fault," she whispered. "He should never have known that he was a monster, then he never would have turned into one..."

"Erik, let me bring her Viola," I pleaded. "She's not sensible, and she said what you wanted her to. Please, you're not thinking clearly."

He was emotionless, staring at her with cold, empty eyes. I went over to her without him holding me back.

"This is our child," I told her. "Erik's and mine. Her name is Viola."

"Viola..." she croaked.

I placed her frail hand upon my baby's, and she inhaled sharply, her wrinkled features softening.

"She will inherit all of this," she said. "Not him. She is innocent... How soft she is, like a little dove, like little Guillaume..."

"Are you able to sign a document?" I asked.

"No, my dear... no... but my nurse will know how to manage it. You are my only family... how strange that is..."

She relaxed into her bedsheets, removing her hand from Viola's. Her chest rose and fell wearily.

"Where is my last son?" she asked. "I want to... speak with him... alone."

I turned to Erik, who nodded. His jaw was tight.

I left the room with Viola.

* * *

 **ERIK**

"I have wanted to see you like this my whole life," I told her once the door had shut. "Weak and dying, though I had hoped you would be in a bit more pain."

"Are you going to kill me now?" the old woman asked, her voice trembling.

"My wife wouldn't allow that," I retorted. "She isn't like you."

"I never killed anyone."

"You killed me."

"But you have a wife now," she whispered. "And a child. I did not kill you."

"My wife brought me back to life. She undid everything you did to me."

She exhaled shakily. "Why did you have to be so ugly?"

"You're one to talk now. I've seen prunes far surpass you in beauty."

"That is likely true..." She glanced around with her cataract-coated eyes. "Did your wife take my granddaughter away?"

"She is not your granddaughter," I retorted through my teeth. "And I am not your son."

"I gave you life."

"You gave me nothing but pain. Most of my life I wished I were dead."

"I wished you were dead... But please, let me see the baby one last time before I die. It's been... so long since I held a baby, a perfect little baby."

"I am not as kind as my wife... The next time I see you will be in Hell."

"I hope not," she whispered in reply.

"You think you'll be in Heaven? You, of all people?"

She said something too quiet for me to hear. I was too disgusted with her to care, so I slammed the door behind myself as I left, breathing heavily. I went down the stairs towards the drawing room.

"Are you alright?" Christine asked when I entered. She was sitting on the sofa with Viola in her lap. "That was quick."

"Where is her nurse?" I demanded.

The woman peeked out of the kitchen. "Monsieur?"

"I assume the money goes to you when she dies?"

"Heavens no. I receive nothing. I don't know where it will all go."

"I'll give you half of it if you keep your mouth shut for the rest of your life about this matter."

Her eyes widened. "H-half?"

"How much is it, though?"

"I-I don't know, monsieur. Are you trying to make fun of me?"

"Do I look like I am in the mood for making fun of people!" I shouted at her. "Do you want the money or not?"

"I-I do, yes, monsieur."

"Good. Now where is her will? I can forge it well."

"F-forge?"

"Her son is dead, is he not? What difference does it make? Now get it for me before I lose my patience!"

"Erik!" Christine said. "Don't speak to her like that."

"I will shout as I please!" I retorted.

Viola began to cry. The noise only further increased the flames building in my soul.

The nurse returned a moment later with a signed document. I took it into my father's study and proceeded to mend it to suit our needs. I then noticed the books he had made me study, science and mathematics, beside each other on the same shelf as before. I would have to take those home with me, my only good memories, of safety and pride.

I went back into the drawing room, the books under my arms. Christine glanced up at me as I handed the nurse the document.

"There," I said. "Half to you, half to us, and the house is ours. Take all your belongings out of it by tomorrow or they will not be returned."

"Yes, monsieur..." she replied, perusing the document with wide eyes. "I-I don't know what to say."

"Then be silent."

I turned to Christine, who asked, "Why can't she have the house?"

"No one will have this house ever again."

"You're going to let it fall into ruin?"

"You'll see. I want you to see... Let's leave now."

"I want to say one last thing to your mother."

I gestured up the stairs. She ascended, then shut the door behind herself. I paced the drawing room, desperately trying not to look at the family portraits or anything else that would spark my memory. Then my mind considered what Christine might be saying. I hoped it was nothing kind, as she hated that woman as I did, but... I didn't care anymore what she said.

The door opened, and she came down to me.

"Let's go now," she told me. "I have said all I wanted to." Then she glanced at the books beneath my arm, noticing them for the first time. "What are those?"

"My only good memories... Come."


	36. Chapter 36: From the Ashes

**ERIK**

I felt her die. I knew I had. I woke in the middle of the night with a weight off my chest, like I was floating, hovering over the bed.

Christine moaned in her sleep. I slipped out from beside her and tiptoed to the door so as not to wake her, or more importantly, Viola.

I didn't quite know what I felt now. There was relief, yes, and no anger anymore, but I didn't feel free yet. My memories remained. I had thought they might grow dimmer, though I knew they would never leave me. Their wounds were still so fresh.

My two books rested on an end table in the living room. I lit a few candles and looked them over. Even the scent of them was filled with memories. I had used to smell books before I read them, every single one. It had been one of the only ways I could keep from going mad in that house. Knowledge was my escape. I learned all about the world from pages in books, about other types of people than the ones I knew, other places to live, even other languages. I journeyed to England and Spain when I could, through the pages of novels combined with my imagination. Sometimes I even played in my own fantasies, up in the attic or down in the cellar. I pretended I was on an expedition for gold in Africa, or perhaps voyaging to the North Pole. Then once... once I had an imaginary mother. I concocted her from descriptions in novels. She had a round face, and was always smiling. She wore a blue gown of the finest silk, which pooled on the floor whenever she kneeled to talk to me. Her hair was golden, her eyes big and brown (my real mother's were green). She was always interested in what I had to say. She never hit me, never shouted. Her voice was sweet as honey, and she wore lavender perfume. I had to make my own world or else I would have withered away.

Those were my only good memories. My mind had always been my escape from this miserable world. With my mind, I could make anything, save some real company.

"Erik?" Christine whispered.

 _Damn it._ Why did she sleep so lightly?

Her footsteps drifted down the stairs. She glowed like an angel in the darkness, her nightgown fluttering about her little feet. Her hand came to rest on my shoulder.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.

"She's dead," I replied. "I know she is now. I can feel it in my soul."

"Do you feel at peace now?"

"I don't know how I feel..."

"Do you want me to sit with you? I might as well stay awake. Viola will probably start crying any minute now."

I patted the spot beside me. She assumed it, then set her head on my shoulder and exhaled. I had a sudden desire to clasp her in my arms and never let her go again.

"What are those books?" she asked. "I never asked about them."

"My first science and mathematics books," I replied. "The first time I received any good attention was when my father gave them to me."

"I'm glad you have some good memories to think on."

"I forgot they existed..."

She nodded against my shoulder, and prodded me to wrap my arm about her. I held her against my chest, but I didn't cry. I was in a fog. The fact that they were all dead now, every last member of my family who had been cruel to me, I found myself unable to comprehend. How strange that I had survived. I had been the weak one, the victim. Now I was the only one still standing and not buried beneath layers of earth.

Later that day, we decided to return. Christine wore her darkest dress, but I was glad she had nothing black. My mother was not worthy of Christine being dressed as if in mourning. We were certainly not mourning her. I was celebrating.

We visited to be sure my mother was indeed dead, and the nurse said she had been taken to be buried beside her husband. She could take us there, if we wanted, she said. Christine accepted. I feared she might want to go to place flowers on my mother's grave, but she did no such thing, and for that I was grateful. She only held my hand, allowing me to settle my thoughts in silence as we looked down at her headstone.

 _Lucille Picard_

 _Beloved Wife and Mother_

"Beloved," I scoffed.

Christine kept her eyes down, her brow knitted with thought.

"What are we doing with the house?" she finally asked.

"We are staying here for the night," I replied. "In town, I mean, not the house. I'll show you then what we will do."

She didn't prod further. She simply nodded. "What about the money? We don't need it, do we?"

"Why do you ask? Why can't we save it?"

"Well..." She adjusted her hold on Viola. "We could donate it."

"All of it...? What to?"

"The orphanage, and then some other places. There must be charities in the city we could donate to as well, to help with those less fortunate. I'll have to ask my friends their opinion. They know far more about Rouen than I."

"You don't want to keep any, though?" I asked, thinking it odd to give all of it away. "Perhaps we could buy another house, once the opportunity arises, or... something."

"But I like our house, and I don't need any more than we have already."

I waved my hand in nonchalance. "It's your decision. I couldn't care less."

"We'll decide together," she insisted, "but not today. We need to have a nice, quiet day today. Life has been rather eventful of late."

"Life is always eventful."

She glanced down at Viola. "It is... I think we should go now and have lunch somewhere."

"My mask."

"Then we can get lunch and take it somewhere private to eat. Or perhaps a restaurant has a private room? We can certainly ask."

"All right."

She got into the cart with me, and we went down the hill from the church to the main road. I stopped outside a hat shop and she handed me Viola.

"I'll go see if any have a private room," she said. "I'll be quick."

I nodded. I watched her wander down the street, then disappear to speak to someone new. She reappeared each time, her face growing more and more flushed from failure. Her lips were even beginning to pucker. Then she entered one at the very end. It had a white sign over it with fading print that read, "Chez Léonard." She walked back out of it and waved us over. We went towards her.

"There's a room in the back that they use for large groups of people," she said as I stepped out of the cart. I handed Viola to her. "But it's early enough they don't mind us using it."

"Good," I replied.

"Isn't this wonderful, though?" she told me excitedly. "We can eat at a restaurant together for the first time."

"We've been to restaurants."

"But I'm the only one who ever eats anything... Could you grab her bottle for me?"

"Certainly."

She fed Viola while we ordered our food. I had little appetite, so Christine told me I could just take some of what she had. The server set a plate of brie and baguette on the table.

"How are you feeling?" Christine asked me as I spread cheese on a slice of baguette for her.

"I feel wonderful," I replied. "The root of my suffering is dead."

"You seem a bit... fatigued by it."

"No. I am letting it settle in my heart, that she is gone at last."

I handed her the baguette. She took a thoughtful bite, then gestured for me to have a piece, too. I waved my hand to decline, and she did not prod further as she usually did. She was coddling me, wasn't she? Where was her insistence? Her flame that I so adored?

"I'm fine," I told her sternly.

She blinked in surprise. "I didn't say you weren't."

"Don't act differently around me. I'm fine."

"I believe you, and I'm not trying to act differently."

"But you are."

She glanced down at Viola, a shadow crossing her rosy face. "A woman is dead, and she died unloved. No one should die unloved, not even someone who has committed atrocities, because they will get what is coming to them upon their death. They need love before that horror."

"She touched Viola," I retorted, the memory sending a flame through my heart. "That is far more than she deserved anyway."

"It just makes me so sad, especially about Guillaume dying as well. Imagine having no relatives to clasp your hand on your deathbed..."

"She pushed away those who might have... But I don't want to discuss her now. She is dead, as she deserves."

"We all deserve death..." She shook her head. "I hated her, you know. It is wrong to hate, but I hated her too much to restrain it. I can't bring myself to hate the dead, though, especially when she is likely in such an awful place."

"How is the Brie?" I asked, hastening to change the subject.

"Quite good..." She seemed to know why I asked such a question, as she continued with, "Why don't we look for new shoes for you after this? I noticed your nice ones have a couple marks on them now."

"I will buy new ones so long as you let me buy you something as well."

"A nice hat would be splendid."

"Then we will search for one that suits you perfectly."

She smiled, then finished her baguette. I made another one for her, as her hands were full with Viola still, who was falling into a milk-induced slumber. Only two more months and Christine's friend could nurse her and give her more than a powder with evaporated milk. That likely meant we would be spending much time at another's house, though. But for Viola's wellbeing, I could manage.

After we ate our lunch, I found an inn for us to stay at for the night. Did Christine suspect what was going to happen? I was unsure if she would approve, so I had not told her, but even if she did not, for this once, I didn't care.

"We'll have to wait until Viola wakes to go shopping," Christine told me, sitting down on the white quilted bedsheets. "What ever shall we do until then?"

"Talk," I replied. "That's what we always do."

"We do that quite often, yes... But you know what, my love?"

"What, my love?"

"Do you feel like our love deepens over time? When I first realized I loved you, it was all rather... sudden. Just a sudden feeling, with nothing exactly behind it, I just _felt_ like I loved you. Now it seems different, in a good way. I know why I love you."

"Why do you love me?"

She smiled secretively, "Because of how you love Viola and me, how you would do anything for us."

"That is an interesting reason."

"And yours is because I am kind. I will always remember you saying that to me. That might have been the first time I began to fall in love with you. Little things like that, about seeing the world with such simplicity... I can hardly even describe why I love you, simply that I do, for more reasons than I can name."

"I love you for all that you are."

She smiled again. Her beauty made my pulse quicken. The air in the room was warming to a suddenly unbearable height. But we couldn't make love now, that much I knew, and perhaps it made it all the more exciting to think about.

"Well, come kiss me," she said. "That's what we normally do after proclamations of love."

"One kiss," I replied.

She opened her mouth to speak, but I kissed her then, and she held herself against me. Her arms wrapped around me to pull herself closer.

I released her. Her face was flushed.

"Why only one?" she asked. "Is it because we're not at home?"

"Yes. We would be risking having a baby, which I will not do."

She bit her lip. "Yes... we couldn't risk that... E-excuse me, I need to get some air."

She shut the door behind herself as she left. Why did she need air? To calm her desires? Nothing would calm mine.

I glanced over at Viola in the bassinet Christine had brought for her. It was white and painted with bright flowers. Viola was beneath a lavender blanket, her eyes relaxed with sleep and her arms limp at her sides. One of her hands clenched into a fist as she yawned.

Christine entered the room. Her eyes were red, which startled me into action.

"Why have you been crying?" I demanded.

She shook her head. "I can't say. Not yet."

"Can't say? You will tell me now. I won't have you crying-"

"Better me than you."

The realization came over me like a wave, forcing me down against the sand. My lungs filled with water as again and again I was pressed beneath the tide, gasping for air. She knew now.

"Erik?" Christine whispered, reaching for my hand.

I pulled it from her grasp and went to stand in the corner where I could collect myself. That was when I heard a sound behind me, like a wind-chime. It was her crying. She had never cried like that before. I didn't know what to make of it.

"Are you happy?" I asked her, facing away so she wouldn't see my expression.

"I am... and then I am not," she replied, burying her head in her hands. "I didn't... m-mean it to happen, I promise that much-"

"I know... I know you didn't..."

"We knew it could happen on a-accident still."

I bowed my head. "It's my fault."

"Well... it would be exceedingly difficult for me to make a baby on my own-"

"Christine," I pleaded, turning to her with a pained expression. "Please don't attempt to humor me now... I-I can't."

Her eyes filled up to the brim then poured over. "Oh, I wish I hadn't said anything yet, not today, of all days..."

"I would have found out. I already suspected, but I was so distracted by everything else that I forgot... Don't cry, though, it's not your fault."

"That's not what I'm crying about."

"Then what?"

"I'm crying because _you_ are."

I stared at her for a moment, realizing that she could be happy if only I said I was. She wouldn't be happy without me. I had to find some joy in such a horrible occurrence.

"Stay with Viola," I told her, "it's my turn to get some air."

* * *

 **CHRISTINE**

How could I have said such a thing? Erik was having a difficult enough day as it were, and I had made it even worse now! We needed time to talk about this, calm emotions, not grappling with the fact that a woman we both despised was no more.

I waited for him to return. For an entire hour, I sat and waited. I couldn't leave Viola alone, and she continued to sleep, blissfully unaware. Would she like a sister or brother? Would she be old enough to understand when I gave birth?

The reason I knew I must be with child was the obvious changes happening to me. I hadn't noticed them until Erik mentioned that I could be carrying a child. My waist was fuller, my chest was sore, all of the first physical signs were there. I also couldn't stand milk anymore. It was interesting how I still adored cheese, but the thought of milk by itself sent my stomach writhing. That didn't make sense.

Erik came back through the door after over an hour had passed. He held a bud vase in his hands, which contained such a perfect red rose that I nearly wondered if it was fake.

"It's lovely," I told him. "Thank you."

"Something small," he replied absentmindedly, placing it on the dresser.

I reached out for his hand, and he sat down beside me on the bed. I smiled to put him at ease.

"I'm happy," I told him. "I want you to know that, if you were happy, too, it might be the happiest day of my life..." He did not reply in any way, not even with an expression, so I said, "This is part of me being a woman, Erik. I'm supposed to have children."

"I wish Viola was ours," he whispered.

"She is ours, just as much as this one will be."

"May I?" he asked, reaching out to my stomach.

"You wouldn't feel anything yet. It's just a bit... firm is all. But I'll undo my bodice if you want."

He shook his head. "No... No, I don't want to talk about it anymore today."

"Then we won't."

We sat beside each other, awkwardly searching for various ways to fidget. Then I turned and found Viola's eyes latched onto mine, and she beamed, her limbs jerking about with excitement.

"Did you sleep well, my little angel?" I asked as I scooped her up. "Do you want to play now?"

I had recently discovered that leaning over her and making kiss noises would send her into peals of laughter. I set her on the bed and proceeded to do so. She filled the room with her giggles. Her laughter made me do the same, and I hoped Erik might be intoxicated by it as well. I glanced at him and found his eyes sad, but his lips turned up at the corners.

After this, we went shopping. Viola took it upon herself to steal the heart of everyone in each store we entered. Mostly women were enamored, and the only men who cooed over her were ones with their wives. Erik remained aloof, and I knew he was still thinking about the child within me.

We returned to the inn that evening, having bought ourselves ham and cheese on baguette to eat there. It was a quiet meal. The loudest noise came when Viola drank from her bottle. She sucked loudly, with great enthusiasm.

"Will you tell me about the house now?" I asked Erik.

He turned to me from where he sat beside me on the bed. "You'll see. We'll go when it gets dark... You have your cloak with you?"

"You told me to bring it... Are we going to steal something? From the house _we_ own?"

"No, of course not, that makes no sense. Besides, there's nothing worth stealing, not even to sell. I doubt I could even bear to touch the things."

"I understand... I don't understand why you won't say, though, as if I wouldn't like it."

"I will say once it gets dark," he insisted.

I didn't prod further. I gazed out the open window, waiting for the sun to dip all the way beneath the trees in the distance. The sky turned various hues, until it settled upon darkening purple that faded to black. The stars peeked out then, accompanied by the full brightness of the moon.

"Come," Erik said simply, fastening my cloak about me.

I followed him without question. Viola was dozing in my arms, one of her little fists gripping the fabric of my dress.

We walked to the house rather than taking our cart. Erik's eyes were resolute, and they did not meet mine. He was beginning to frighten me.

As we approached, the streets were filled with fewer people. The house stood apart from all else, with an overgrown garden surrounding it. We went behind it rather than through the front, beneath the cover of a tree. Oh, what were we doing?

"Wait here," Erik told me.

He carried a packet of something in his hand. I watched him open the back door of the house; he had evidently left it unlocked for this purpose. Viola's lips smacked in her sleep. I held her tightly.

A light appeared in the window. Then two lights. They grew in number, and in strength, until I realized what they were.

Fire. He was setting the house ablaze.

He came out as smoke began to rise, then hid with us beneath the tree. We were not well hidden by any means, however. He didn't seem to care. There was hunger in his eyes as he watched the flames devour the root of his pain.

"Oh, Erik," I whispered.

"It's over now," he said. "All of it. No more memories of this place. They are burning before our eyes."

I reached out to take his hand. The flames rose higher, lapping at the drapes and fabrics first, then the wooden furniture. We could see it through the windows until they clogged with smoke, then shattered.

A crowd of people gathered in front. We went to join them, as we would be less conspicuous there. No one was trying to put out the fire, though. They were all simply watching with a mixture of awe and horror.

"The ghost did it," one woman whispered to her husband. "They _were_ cursed."

Eventually, firemen arrived. They were too late to extinguish the flames, but upon hearing no one was inside, they left it alone. The people scattered as the house crumbled to ash and dust. The roof caved in, sending soot pouring down the sides. Erik's mouth was slack at the sight, his eyes full of hope and triumph.

"It is done," he said simply.

"It is," I replied, clasping his hand tightly in mine.

He gazed deeply into my eyes, then to Viola, curled up in my arms, then down to where our second child grew within me.

"There is nothing that will happen," he told me, "that can be worse than what has already."

"Nothing," I agreed.

As we left, we did not glance back.


	37. Chapter 37: Gifts

**I have a tumblr as of two days ago: symphony-in-a**

 **I'm going to end on a nice even chapter 40, then promptly begin _another_ E/C. But it'll be very different, more of a slow burn than a family fic.**

 **Enjoy! Please review if you do.**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **ERIK**

 _The bedroom was white, with translucent curtains swaying in the breeze, and pale sunlight streaming in through the open window. The trees outside were dusted with snow. I approached the bed where Christine lay, clasping a pearl-white bundle to her chest. Her skin was pale as porcelain._

 _"Don't you want to see the baby?" she whispered, smiling down at what she held._

 _A white hand peeked out of the blankets, no larger than a coin. I sat down beside her, my heart pounding madly in my chest. Let it be perfect, let it be perfect..._

 _The veil was pulled away. The head of a doll appeared, with a single curl of brown hair on her head. Her eyes opened, revealing a startling blue. Nothing tainted her features. She was exactly as a baby for Christine ought to be._

 _The moment I smiled in relief, Christine's face contorted, and her arms fell limp. I caught the baby, whispering her name, asking what was wrong, over and over, until the words lost all meaning. She stared up at the ceiling with fear in her eyes. Beneath her_ _grew a pool of blood, staining the white sheets of the bed like wine, dragging the pink from Christine's cheeks. I grabbed her arm._

 _"Christine! Christine!"_

"Erik! Erik!" she called in the dark.

My forehead was damp with sweat. I found I had been shaking her by the arm without my knowledge. I slid off the bed, my legs trembling beneath the weight of my body. She pursued me, rubbing her arm. Oh, heaven help me if it bruised!

"I've hardly begun to show," she whispered. "And you seem to have nightmares at least once a week about it."

I took trembling breaths, unable to reply. I tried to keep my gaze directed out the window.

"Come sit with me," she coaxed.

I turned around to see her patting the spot beside her, smiling faintly in the darkness. Then her lips trembled into a frown.

"I'm so sorry you have to endure this," she said. "I wish we had been able to decide on it together, rather than be thrown into it, but life doesn't exactly work like that, does it? We know that better than most, I should think... Come sit with me, won't you?"

"What will I do if you don't..." I asked feebly, "i-if you..."

"Then you'll have the baby," she replied.

"But it won't be _you_. I need _you_."

"Erik," she sighed, "we don't know when we will die. I can't say I won't, but the odds aren't exactly high. I'm a young, healthy woman with no history of difficult births in my family. My body seems to be changing in the way it should, at the correct pace. Everything is going well. We have no reason to worry."

"You are all that matters to me," I told her. "I can't live without you."

"I know that, and it upsets me that I might not be here with you always, that one of us will one day be alone..." She shook her head to clear it. "Oh, let's not talk about death now. It upsets me just as much as you. And I'm so full of life, now, my dear. There shouldn't be a need to talk about such miserable things."

I placed my hand where the child grew within her. She smiled at me, clasping her hands over mine.

"I can't wait until we feel the first kick," she said excitedly. "The books you bought me all say that comes later, but I hope it comes soon. It's been almost four months now, I think. Only two more until we'll feel him for the first time, then only three until we can see him."

"Or her," I added.

She leaned back onto the headboard. "What will you name our child, if it is a her?"

"Christine."

"That's sweet of you, but we can't possibly name her after me. It would be too confusing."

"Well, we have one named Viola. Perhaps Violin? Cello?"

"You're being facetious, right?"

"Of course I am... But if it's a boy, what will you name him?"

She hummed contentedly. "Gustav, after my father."

"Do you have a girl's name in mind as well?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. I want you to have a part in deciding."

"You're giving birth. Shouldn't you name him or her?"

"You helped."

"Not..." I fidgeted, "very much."

She laughed, "I would take that help any day, but yes, it rather pales in comparison to what I will have to do... But you're caring for me now, and you'll have to later. That means the workload will be fair at some point."

"After giving birth, I doubt you will think that way."

"Oh, lots of women use chloroform now to help with the pain," she said simply. "Perhaps it won't be as bad then."

"Chloroform isn't... particularly safe, though."

"It's safe enough-"

"But I don't trust a midwife with the dosage. If you require it, I will be in control of how much you have."

"But you can't be in the room while I'm giving birth," she declared, her eyes widening.

"Why not?"

"I-It's not done. No midwife in her right mind would permit such a thing."

"I'm sure they could make an exception for a man with medical expertise."

"I..." she sighed in resignation. "Maybe... it's just... Laura was telling me about her birth. The midwives didn't even want her husband in the same room as her _afterward_ , only once to see the baby, and whenever she required something. It was very funny, she said, as she does absolutely everything around the house. Her husband had to hire a nursemaid for a couple weeks so that he could work, but she said it was mostly because he was too prideful to cook meals for her and such... I forget how strange we are, in our marriage, especially that you help me with meals. I've never said that to my friends, though. They would be in an uproar."

"Do they think men can't cook?"

"No, it's just that... oh, you know, men provide for the food and the house, so women should be the ones to cook and clean. With us, though, that doesn't make sense. It wouldn't be fair."

"Would you... prefer it, if I worked?"

"What would you do?"

"I was merely asking."

She thought for a moment, then replied, "No. I wouldn't. We spend more time together this way."

"Some would say too much."

"Well, I go visit my friends, and we have Viola to tend to."

"And I have to tend to you now."

"Oh, not yet. I'm quite capable still. You wait until the last two months, those are absolutely _miserable_ , I hear, for both parties."

"I would much prefer that form of misery," I told her quietly, "as opposed to others."

"Yes... I expect so."

We were silent for a moment, pensive. I glanced out at the silver trees reflecting the moonlight. Leaves had begun to fall now, coating the ground in burnt colors. There was no delight to stepping in them, though, as they were damp from rain and not in the least bit crisp. That was the only joy when autumn grew cold- crisp, bitter leaves to crunch underfoot.

"Viola's growing up so fast," Christine whispered, glancing at the door. "They say that about children, but I didn't believe it. She'll soon be old enough to eat real food, you know. Clarice is going to teach me how to make peas for her, and a few other things. I think she might be visiting Laura's baby tomorrow, so I can ask her then."

I nodded, lying back down on the bed. She curled up on top of me, running her hand along my deformity and caressing the warped skin.

"I'm glad it's cool now," she whispered, "so that we can sleep close together."

"Yes..." I swallowed, "very close, apparently."

She laughed, then kissed me before shifting to the side a bit, exhaling sleepily.

"It's funny," she said, "how much we talk in the middle of the night."

"It is..."

She curled up against my arm, shutting her eyes. I stared up at the ceiling, waiting for her head to fill back up with beautiful dreams of the baby. I, however, couldn't bear another of my twisted nightmares, so I kept myself wide awake where I lay beside her.

If only I could know for certain that everything would go well in the end...

The days were full of Christine's excitement, but mine were filled with dread. Often, I would wake in the night and she would not, as she slept more soundly than she had before. I had to resort to small doses of laudanum to fall back asleep, and sometimes to fall asleep at all. This made my dreams insensible rather than frightening. Even with that, my heart grew heavy in my chest that these remaining months could be my last with Christine. I tried to see any other future, of her happy and healthy, with a baby equally so, but I couldn't imagine it. My mind refused.

Viola decided, of course, that it was then that she would begin to sprout teeth. She had to have a toy in her mouth at all times or else she would start wailing with pain. Christine was beside herself from it. She often endured strange moods now, but mostly she would burst into tears of happiness at the smallest thing. I bought her a vase of hydrangeas and she sobbed for half an hour, at least, over it. Though blessedly rare, she would sometimes upset herself over something, often about the baby's room. She never berated me about anything, but she could snap at me for no obvious reason. One day it was the cradle I had bought, as her friend's-friend's baby had suffocated from the way the mattress fit in a similar model. So I had purchased a new one, and she had fussed over it for a time before insisting that it was perfectly lovely and I was wonderful for helping her, and the like. Her praise of me was more common than her strange moods, thankfully.

She was always tired, it seemed. I would be composing at the piano, hear her sit down on the sofa beside me, then glance over and find her asleep. I kept a blanket folded underneath the coffee table now due to this. It was a great pleasure in life to care for her in such ways.

Though she asked very little of me, and I felt quite pleased with my care of her, there was one thing I could not do. It sounded silly even to think of.

She wanted pickled herring. She only ate seafood now, but she kept mentioning the pickled herring specifically, asking if I would mind searching Rouen for some. I did, of course, but I only found a different jar of a pickled fish. She thanked me, but it was all politeness on her part. Fortunately, I had found some recently, and bought ten jars, which I hid in the cellar. Her birthday was in a few days, and I wanted to have something for her that I was certain she would like. I had wanted to buy her a diamond necklace or the like, but she wasn't so fond of those sorts of things. Instead I bought her some expensive stockings for the winter in the colors and patterns she preferred. Then, as she didn't care about herself so much, I got little dresses for Viola and the new baby. She would like anything I gave her, of course, but I wanted to see her surprised. I wanted to see her genuine instead of polite.

The morning of October first, I woke to find Christine curled up at the edge of the bed, the covers tucked up under her. Should I make her breakfast? Bring her the flowers I had hidden? Did she open gifts now or later? Oh, I knew nothing of birthdays! I had never experienced one, or taken part in another's. There had been observations, though. I knew that there were gifts and sweets, but in what order?

Christine turned over in her sleep, moaning as she pulled my arm about her. I didn't want to wake her up further, though, so I waited for her to settle, and remained there until Viola began to cry. Christine was upright in an instant, hurrying to her child before I could even stand up from the bed.

"Good morning, my little angel," I heard her croon as I entered the nursery.

Viola stared up at her in ecstasy, reaching for her mother's face.

"Happy birthday," I said from the doorway, figuring it best just to say the words first.

She beamed. "Thank you. I forgot to remind you yesterday, so I'm surprised you remembered. Twenty-two now."

"Twenty-two..."

"You know, Erik..." she said, with a bit of shyness, "since we don't know when your birthday is, can't we celebrate them on the same day?"

I was silent for a moment, quite overwhelmed by the proposal. "Wouldn't you prefer it all to yourself?"

"No," she said simply, blowing raspberries in Viola's face to make her laugh. "I already share every minute of my life with you. And besides, I already bought your gifts, so it must be today... What did you say you were?"

"Perhaps forty."

"Let's just make it your fortieth, then. That's a nice number... Did you plan anything for today? It's fine if you didn't, though-"

"I thought we could take a walk and have a picnic for lunch."

"That sounds lovely. Gifts after or before?"

"Well, what would you like?"

"I asked you."

"It's your _actual_ birthday-"

"All right, fine, I'll decide. Before."

I nodded in agreement. "Do you want breakfast?"

"Yes. What are you going to make?"

"Crêpes."

"The baby likes that idea very much," she said. "Not this baby, though, she has to eat peas first before she can start on real food." She blew another raspberry for Viola's delight.

After breakfast, Christine decided we ought to give our gifts then. I didn't quite know what to think of it. She had made me a gift once- the scarf- and I had kept it with my coat. It was not my fondest memory, though. Those days had been filled with so much uncertainty on my part, and I wished I had given Christine my love in a better fashion from the very beginning.

She sat down on the sofa with Viola, who had begun to fuss for an unknown reason.

"Papa has to get my gifts now," she told her. Then she teased, "Is that why you're upset? Because you don't get any? You'll get lots of gifts for Christmas, though, I promise you that, the way your father spoils us both."

"Is that such a bad thing?" I asked, heading up the stairs to get her roses first.

"Not at all," she replied, smiling.

When I brought the vase of roses down, she sighed in delight. "Oh, those are lovely, thank you."

I retrieved the rest of her gifts, then placed them all out in front of her. The herring was in one large box, all ten jars of it. She stared at this in confusion.

"Did you buy me a sewing machine?" she asked.

"Did you want one?" I replied.

"Well, I would like anything you gave me..." she said, and I realized then what I should never get her. "Now let me get yours. I only have three for you, though."

"Three is... Three is good."

She handed Viola back to me, who whined in indignity. I turned her around to face me.

"I love you, too," I argued. "You needn't cry. Your mother will be back soon."

"Mah!" she whined.

"What?"

She began making incoherent noises again. I must have been hearing things...

"Here they are!" Christine declared triumphantly, carrying three little boxes in her arms, all complete with red bows.

"Mah," Viola cooed.

"So she did say it," I said triumphantly.

"It could just be baby talk-"

"No, she's saying 'ma' as in 'mama.'"

"That would be a wonderful birthday gift, wouldn't it?" she beamed as she picked Viola up and sat down with her. "Is that your gift to me, my little angel?"

"Mah," she said again, then she continued with this sound, smacking her lips in between them.

"Yours first," I told Christine before she could say the opposite.

She smiled. "I would argue, but, I want to know what is in that box... And it's heavy, too! What on earth is in this? Bricks?"

"Just open it."

She tore at the paper, then pulled open the brown box. Her lovely features widened.

"You actually found some," she said. "I can't believe it, you actually did! I am taking these on our picnic- oh, thank you so much."

She set one of my gifts in my lap. I stared at her in confusion.

"Are we taking turns?" I asked.

"Of course. Go on, let me see if you like it."

It was wrapped. I had never been given a real wrapped gift before, certainly not complete with a bow. What could she have gotten me? I would treasure the contents of that box no matter what they were, but my curiosity was building, building, yet I could not find the strength to untie the bow.

"Darling?" she asked.

"I don't want to destroy it," I replied.

"What do you mean?"

"It's so beautiful."

"Well, save the paper, then, and the bow."

"Save it? But that's not the same."

"I'll go wrap you up an empty box, if you like, but you do know what's inside is what matters?"

"I do... of course I do..."

I tore it. The paper peeled off, and the bow tumbled into my lap. Was I shaking? Either that or we were experiencing an earthquake in France.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"No. No, I'm not."

"Are you concerned my selection wasn't good?"

"If I found a rock within this box, I would be overjoyed regardless."

"Ah, you guessed it! A rock, the best gift for one's husband-"

"Christine-" but I sighed and chuckled. "Yes. Just what I always wanted..."

I pulled open the lid, and there was of course, not a rock, but instead some folded sheet music. The notes had been inked in by her very own hand.

"You wrote me a piece?" I asked.

"Oh, I wouldn't call it a _piece_ ," she replied, beaming. "But certainly a song I wrote for you."

"For me?"

She nodded. "You and only you. I would be happy to sing it for you later."

"I would quite like that... thank you."

She glanced at her gifts, and I handed her another. I hardly knew the things for the baby would make her cry, though. It was only a pair of shoes at first, two for Viola's feet and two for the baby, that made tears run down her cheeks. She embraced me, still holding Viola between us, who cooed.

It was odd that Christine reacted to most things with tears: happiness, relief, anger, sadness. Even when she laughed she often cried. I had hardly known all those emotions could be answered the same way.

"They're all so lovely," she told me, as I insisted she open all of them before I opened my last two. "And now you must open yours. I didn't make these two, don't worry. I bought them."

"What with?"

"A bit I snuck out of the safe," she beamed mischievously. "I still have my own money, you know, quite a bit of it. I only took my share."

"That doesn't matter to me. It's your money as much as it is mine."

"Well, the husband is supposed to manage the finances. Not like most do, of course, but we're supposed to pretend like they're in charge of it."

"You've been talking to your friends too much."

"They make me very happy to have a husband around all the time to help with things, and be willing to help with things. I wouldn't tell them that, though, they'd gasp in shock. And I don't want them to think I'm not a good wife-"

"They think what?" I demanded.

"Nothing. They would just think me less competent, being helped by my husband around the house. But they seem to like me very much. They value my honesty. And I was also one of the only women who has already finished her share of knitting for the asylum, so now I'm picking up from where Laura left off... Oh, but open your gifts, won't you? Don't let me keep talking about nothing."

"I like it when you talk about nothing."

I proceeded to open the first box. It was long, and contained tissue paper, which I pushed aside to find a new dressing gown. It was crimson, and the fabric was quilted. The edges were a deep burgundy.

"What do you think?" she asked anxiously.

"I like it very much."

"Will you wear it tonight?"

"If you want me to."

"It's not like you'll have it on for that long anyway, though."

I turned to her in stupefaction. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean?"

"We can't make love while you're with child! Not this far along, anyway. It's been almost four months. Won't it hurt the baby?"

"Of course not."

"How do you know?"

She shrugged. "I've learned a lot from the opera girls, more than I will ever tell you, and certainly more than I will ever do myself."

"Why not?"

Her mouth fell open in embarrassment. "It's not decent, the things they talk about-"

"Says the woman who insisted on making love at night in the middle of a forest-"

"Erik, that was different!" she said, her cheeks coloring.

I laughed, "Perhaps... but are you _certain_ it won't hurt the baby?"

"Entirely."

"Then... yes, of course I want to, as long as Viola goes to bed well."

"Oh, she had better," Christine scolded playfully, making kissy noises around Viola's face as she giggled. "You wouldn't interrupt your mama and papa, would you?"

"Mah," she giggled, "mah."

"Can you say that? Mama?"

"Mah."

"It's close," I said.

"Very close..." Her eyes lit. "Last gift."

It was a perfect cube, tightly wrapped. I had to tug the bow off before it opened, and inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a gold pocket watch.

"You buy me nice things," she said, smiling, "so I ought to do the same. And on the back I had it engraved. I didn't know what to say, so I just put 'from your dear Christine,' though it sounds a little silly-"

"It's not silly," I replied, admiring it with my mouth open in awe. "It's wonderful."

She kissed my cheek. "Perfect... Now, did you buy me any sweets?"

"There is a box of chocolates in the kitchen."

"Oh, I love you."


	38. Chapter 38: Théo

**Sorry for the wait. My house sorta almost burned down so I have an excuse as to why writing was not the first thing on my agenda. Everything is fine, though. Life is just a bit crazy right now.**

 **Please review! Due to website issues last update, I didn't get very many last chapter, so if you liked it enough to go back and add one, please do.**

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 **CHRISTINE**

Everything was so happy now. For me, that was, as Erik grew increasingly anxious as the days went by. I had given up trying to console him. There was nothing I could say that had not already been said.

I spent a rather large amount of time on the sofa during the day, entertaining myself with knitting little articles of clothing. My charity had already donated our scarves and hats to the asylum, without me, as I was too far along to go outside the house. It frustrated me, though, that, frustrated me to no end. I wasn't one who could be cooped up for days on end.

Erik was putting tinsel on our Christmas tree in the corner that morning. It was a dark little pine, about my height. Viola was sitting beneath him, quite enchanted by the whole affair, though she kept sticking little objects in her mouth now, so we had to be careful watching her.

I set my knitting aside to take a sip of tea. It was then that I felt a rather strong fluttering inside me, but more than a fluttering, more like-"

"Erik! Erik, come quick!" I cried.

He dropped the tinsel and ran to my side, his eyes wide in horror. "What? What's wrong?"

I grabbed his hand and held it where the baby moved inside me, beaming up at him. His eyes grew wider.

"That's... that's the baby?" he whispered.

"If it wasn't, we might need to be concerned," I teased. "Oh, isn't it wonderful?"

Viola crawled over to us for attention, cooing all the way. Then she pulled herself up on the side of the sofa as she pouted with impatience.

"Mah mah," she said, trying to win our attention back. "Mah mah."

"Do you want a turn?" I asked, pulling her up beside me and holding her hand on my stomach.

She simply stared, and quickly lost interest. The baby ceased kicking then.

"Only two more months," I told Erik as I set her down on the carpet.

"Two and a half, more like," he replied, heading back over to the tree. Viola followed him eagerly.

"Mah," she said to him, with great emphasis.

"No, papa," he replied, picking up more tinsel.

"Mah mah."

"Try baba, then. Baba, Viola?"

She grabbed a bit of tinsel in her fist, beaming. I laughed.

"She'll say it eventually," I told him. "She doesn't even know what she's saying, anyway. Once she realizes, she'll probably call your name more than mine."

"And why is that?"

"You spoil her."

"I do not."

"I can hardly walk in her room there are so many toys, Erik."

He shrugged. "She needs to know she's loved."

"She knows without toys, but I am grateful that you seem unable to resist getting her something every time you leave. It makes me happy to see."

"I always get you flowers, though. What's the difference? And besides, her baby toys will go to the baby when it's born."

"All right," I smiled, running a hand over my womb again, hoping for a reply.

"Viola, no!" Erik cried suddenly, pulling tinsel out of her mouth. She started wailing.

"Erik, you can't shout at her," I sighed. I went over to where she sat, bawling with fervor. "Shh, my dear, it's all right. Papa only wants to keep you safe."

I scooped her up, but her violent distress remained. She liked to milk our sympathy. I rubbed her back and held her to my chest, humming into her ear until she settled.

"I think you need a nap, little one," I told her, tapping her nose with my finger. She beamed, evidently unaware of what I was saying. "You're tired. I can tell."

I brought her upstairs to her room. The moment she realized it was not to play, she started to kick and whine.

"Now, I know you're tired," I insisted as I set her down in her crib. She stood up using the bars for support.

"Mah mah!" she wailed. "Mah mah!"

"All right, all right, I'll sing to you first, will that content you?"

She quieted as I picked her up, then smiled at her victory. I brought her into the rocking chair and placed her in my lap.

Erik appeared in the doorway as I sang to her. She shut her eyes, though I knew that meant little, as she would start screaming again the moment I set her down. Her head relaxed against my arm. I had to sit up carefully and take great care as I set her back in her crib. Her eyes popped open with betrayal, and she continued her earlier cries.

"You have to let her," Erik informed me.

"It's not easy to," I replied, "but I suppose I'm too tired to be rocking her for hours."

I put a blanket over her, which she kicked off, then I shut the door as I left. She quieted a couple minutes later.

"I don't like to leave her alone," I told him. "It's best when she falls asleep in my arms. What if she thinks she's being abandoned or-?"

"She doesn't remember that," he replied simply. "I may spoil her with things, but you spoil her with attention."

"I know... I hope this one is a bit easier," I said, placing a hand over my womb.

"Viola is easy, don't you think? She just likes to cry."

"But she's so curious."

"You want a child who isn't curious? My dear, that doesn't exist."

"I suppose not, nor do I want a child with no curiosity, but a _little_ less would be nice."

"You think a child of yours and mine will have _less_ curiosity?"

I laughed, "No, you're right, how silly that sounds... Let me help you with the tree. It looks lovely, though."

We started downstairs.

"We have a lot of lovely things in this house," Erik told me.

"Yes we do," I replied, wrapping my arms about his waist as we reached the base of the stairs.

He swallowed. "Do you... still want to do the tree, or-?"

"Maybe later," I replied, running my hand along the rivulets of his deformity. "Where do you want to go? Bedroom or here?"

"Here. No chance of waking her."

I nodded in agreement, warmth rising in my chest as the palm of my hand grazed the buttons of his jacket.

"Christine-"

"What?"

"I love you."

I smiled. "I love you, too."

"But I _love_ you," he insisted.

"I love you, too. Deeply."

"Madly?"

"If I weren't a bit mad, I wouldn't be standing here now. I would be in some miserable place."

"Why do you say that? What place?"

"Somewhere you are not... Now kiss me before I explode from all this sweetness, won't you?"

One of his hands wove into my hair, the other wrapped around my waist. He met my lips, molding them to his. His touch made my heart beat faster than wings, and I was glad I was not _too_ big yet, as we could still hold each other this close. It always needed to be closer, though, close enough that I barely had room to breathe. I deepened the kiss, and the world melted away like snow.

We lied down for nap afterwards on the sofa, as everything exhausted me now. Erik stroked my hair as I drifted to sleep and was doing so when I woke. It was nice to see him so relaxed. His eyelids were drooping and a faint smile played on his lopsided lips.

"Good morning," he whispered.

"Mm." I nuzzled into him. "I'm glad Viola sleeps so soundly now..."

"I am, too."

I sighed happily. "It'll be miserable once we have a little one again waking us up all hours of the night. At least we know what we're doing now."

I started laughing, and he followed. He kissed my head as I sighed into him again.

"We should finish the tree," I said, "don't you think?"

"No, not yet," he replied, wrapping his arm more firmly about me. "We have a few weeks left, the tree can wait."

"What about the mistletoe?"

"It's such an ugly leaf. I bought holly-"

"But don't you know what mistletoe is for?" I exclaimed, stunned that he had not even considered it.

"Of course I do, but we would kiss anyway-"

"But it's _special_."

"Have you done it before? Kissed a man under the mistletoe?"

"Well, there was this _awful_ time where I found myself in the opera house during an unofficial party- I would not advise it- and the ballerinas had just put up decorations, then invited their gentlemen, and I don't exactly know why I was there, probably because Meg was, and I was lonely. She also liked to drag me to those sorts of things to help lift my spirits. But I had hardly been there five minutes when a man just bent me over like a little rag doll beneath a sprig someone had pinned on a doorway. Meg kicked him for me, but he was rather inebriated by then and didn't notice. I think she got two kicks in, I'm not entirely certain, but don't worry, she avenged me. I cried a bit after, you know how fragile I was back then, but it doesn't matter now. I almost find it amusing... but not really."

"Anyone else?"

"Are you certain you want that question answered?"

"No."

"Why would you even ask that-?"

"Forget I did," he said, coloring as he waved his words away.

"Forgotten," I beamed. "Then you will find some mistletoe and make up for all those other kisses. I expect no less than five a day-"

"Five?"

"Are you complaining?"

"Never."

"And passionate ones, too, not little pecks."

"If you insist... Then I shall have to get some mistletoe."

"Until then, though," I said, leaning towards him.

There came a rapid knock at the door. I sat up in surprise as Erik slipped on his full mask, his eyes narrowing behind it. He went to answer the door while I watched in fearful curiosity from the sofa.

Upon opening the door, Laura appeared on the step, devoid of a cloak or even a scarf. Her baby was wrapped in a cocoon of white blankets. The blood had drained from her face, though frost had burned her cheeks red.

"Laura?" I asked, hurrying over to her as Erik stood still in confusion. "Laura, what's wrong?"

She simply stood there, blinking at me. I glanced down at her baby and found him blue. There was not a tinge of pink to his pallor. My heart froze in my chest as I gasped, and tremors ran down my legs. Oh, no no no no _no._

"Madame," Erik said at last, "was he ill?"

She turned to him, uncomprehending. He and I made eye contact, and he nodded and told her, "I will take him upstairs with me. Christine will make you some tea."

 _Make her tea_ , I repeated to myself. _Be strong and make her tea, don't show your pain, don't show a thing. Just make her tea._

I sat her down on the sofa, hardly able to walk on my shaking legs. Her eyes were cloudy, unfocused, and they drifted around the room. I put a knitted blanket over her lap then went to make her tea.

When I returned, she was praying into her hands with incoherent desperation. I placed my hand on her shoulder, praying myself for the strength to remain calm for her.

"I'm here," I told her. "D-do you want me to send for your husband?"

"He is at work," she replied monotonously. "I wouldn't want to trouble him..."

"But you know... what has happened, don't you?"

Her eyes drifted down to where my child grew within me. I averted my eyes as well.

"It took seven years," she whispered. "The women in my family have no children. My mother had me, but I was a miracle, and he was a miracle..."

"I'm here with you," I told her, clasping her trembling hands in mine. "You will stay here, with us, until your husband gets home, then we can take you there. We will take care of you."

She nodded. Her defenses caved in then, as she must have remembered or realized what had happened, and I found myself rocking her like a child until I trembled with sobs as well. Erik came back down the stairs and waited for me to calm myself well enough to speak with him.

"I have him wrapped in a lace blanket," he whispered to me as Laura broke down in turns, "up in my room... Did she say he was ill-?"

"No... I think he passed in his sleep... I can't even imagine. I can't think, I-I..."

He looked over at Laura. "Let me make her a tonic. She needs to be rational before we can speak to her... Is she more of a... typical woman, though, would you say?"

"Typical?"

"Would she be capable of sewing up her husband's gunshot wound should the need arise?"

"Oh, no."

"Then she is typical."

"Oh... yes, when you say it like that. I-I don't even know if she will be able to endure this. I honestly don't know. She has had little of tragedy, and as a child she was coddled, and her husband adores her, so I honestly don't know how she will make it through this intact."

He nodded. "Go sit with her, calm her in some way, and yourself. Careful of the baby, though, don't excite yourself. Leave if you must... I'll go make her tonic."

He went into the kitchen. A lump had formed in my throat by then, and I brushed tears away from my cheeks. I sat down beside Laura again to hold her against me.

"What did your husband say?" she asked frailly.

I swallowed, my stomach turning inside out. "He's making you a tonic."

"Can he help my baby?"

Did she not know? Or perhaps she was doubting her own senses.

"Laura," I said, my eyes stinging, "we can talk once you have your tonic. Try to calm yourself. I-I know that sounds impossible, but try... You said you had him christened?"

She nodded. "I did. My husband bought him a nice lace dress for it... He looked like a little cherub, all red from crying. He never much liked baths, so it was no surprise..."

We fell silent then. It was a comfortable silence amidst such pain. Erik emerged from the kitchen and brought the tonic to her lips, which she drank thoughtfully. Then he sat across from us, waiting for her to settle to a more reasonable state. She had no right to be reasonable, though, none. The fact that she had stopped weeping was beyond me. I felt close to breaking again.

"My baby is...?" she asked, though it seemed mostly to herself. "I-is he-?"

"I'm sorry, Laura," I replied. "I'm so sorry, I don't even even know to say-"

"What am I going to do?" she pleaded, her eyes overflowing. "Oh, what am I to do? He was everything to me, everything, everything, and my husband, oh, my poor Philippe!"

"We will take care of you until he comes home from work."

"Oh, what did I do wrong? What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing, madame," Erik interjected. "I doubt there was any way to prevent it-"

"But why would God take away my child? What did I do to deserve that?"

He fell silent, turning to me.

"My mother died when I was very young," I told her softly. "T-then my father died when I was old enough to truly feel it... Did I deserve it? No, but it happened, and I continued living. This is not your fault, nor anyone's. Life is not easy, and God is not at fault, I promise you. He is just as distraught as you. There is much you can do now, though, and many people surrounding you who will help you with this. Your heart may never be filled again, but the pain will lessen. I promise it will lessen. I know it will. It has for me... I promise."

She fell silent again.

"Would some music help bring you peace?" I offered.

"Théo loved music..." she whispered, speaking of her child. "Perhaps he can hear it if you do."

"If my father in heaven can hear me sing, then he can, too. Are there any songs you would prefer?"

She dissolved into tears again. Erik took that as the sign to begin playing. My throat was too taut for me to sing with him, and I feared I might cry if I said a single word, so he was alone. He played a rather melancholy piece at first, and I nearly asked him for another, but how could we play anything joyful at such a time as this? He began a bit of pensive Chopin just then, and the tone was perfect for the misery at hand.

Erik cared for us both, along with Viola, whom he tried to keep away from Laura so as not to disturb her. Then she asked to see her and faintly smiled as she was placed in her lap.

"What a beautiful little girl you are," she said faintly.

Viola reached for the pendant she wore around her neck. It was black with the white silhouette of a woman in the middle.

"Isn't it lovely?" she whispered.

Viola tugged on it, quite enamored with the little object. She popped it in her mouth for a moment before crying suddenly with desperation.

"What's wrong?" Laura pleaded, as if she weren't a mother herself.

"She must be hungry," I told her. "We normally feed her now. I'll go prepare a bottle. Do you want her to stay with you?"

"I can feed her," she replied softly.

"Laura, I don't want to strain you-"

"It is not a strain. I would rather not waste my milk..."

I hadn't thought Laura would be so resilient through this. She had been quite reasonable for most of the afternoon now- silent, but reasonable. Her eyes were fogged up and red, but she had gone some time without tears.

Erik went to get her husband around dinner time. That was when she began to tremble with fear at his reaction, as well as berating herself, as if her child's death was her fault. I calmed her as best I could, but that is a difficult feat when one is weeping, too.

The front door opened. Her husband came in with the same blood-drained face as she had, and his dark hat was clasped in white hands. I found a few gray hairs among the brown on his head, ones I had never seen before, and indeed, he seemed to have aged. I knew Erik would have had to tell him something, but Laura hardly cared at that instant that she had not told him herself. She ran into her husband's embrace and sobbed.

I had not been part of such pain for some time. It almost upset me more than my own father's death, as he had lived for a time on earth with me, left me with memories and songs forever in my head. Their child hadn't tasted a bit of the world. My father's death had also been expected, whereas this could never have been predicted.

Erik and I made dinner for them, which they tried to politely eat, but could not manage. I had never heard such silence in all my life. I had a sudden desire to add a bit of levity, but this dissipated swiftly. There would be time to bring them some joy once the shock of their loss had passed.

They left afterward with their shrouded child. Laura's husband feared she might faint or have a fit if she held him, so he did so.

That night was agony. I kept checking on Viola every few minutes, pacing the halls as restlessly as Erik, until he insisted we bring her into bed with us. It helped to wake up and see her little face, her tiny fists curled at her sides. I dreamt that she was still and cold, but fortunately woke to Erik cradling her in his arms as the sun rose.

"Children are so fragile," he remarked.

I placed my hand over my unborn child. "They are... terribly so."

"Is there anything you want to do for them, in the way you do?"

"I assume our charity will find the money to provide a proper stone and... and a..." I faltered at the word 'coffin.' "But are you willing to give money to them?"

"I am willing to give our money to whatever will make you happy, my dear."

"Thank you. It will give them some peace, I am certain... He meant so much..." I regained my composure. "Thank you for what you did yesterday. I know that was not easy for you to do."

He was silent for a moment, glancing down at Viola. She was gnawing on her stuffed rabbit.

"I'm sorry this happened to someone you love," he said. "Only weeks before Christmas, too..."

"The timing makes it that much more miserable..."

"How long until you will recover from this?"

I sighed, "Things like this... they hang over one for such a long time. It's just awful what happened. I can hardly imagine enduring the loss of a child, certainly not one I had waited for for years... After thinking she would never have a child, and then she did, and to have him gone now, I can't..." I shook my head.

"Do you need to cry?" he asked with concern.

"All I need is you. Only you... Hold me, won't you?"

I took Viola from him as I leaned back onto his chest. There was warmth and surety in such an embrace. I felt the prior day's despairs melting into quiet mourning as he stroked my hair. Imagining Laura's husband doing the same for her gave me peace then, though a worn-out, broken peace nonetheless.

Laura insisted on feeding Viola regularly still. She said it helped her be at peace, and that she didn't want to let her milk run dry when another could use it.

"You don't have to do it out of debt," I insisted to her.

"It's not out of debt," she replied, her voice trembling. "I-it's not, I-"

"I didn't mean to accuse you," I told her hurriedly. "I only wanted to be sure you didn't feel indebted to us for any reason. There is no debt after enduring such a thing as this."

"Thank you..."

It became apparent that Viola was all that brought her joy from then on. Her face would light up whenever she heard us arrive at her house. I stayed for hours with her, helping her tend to her house mostly, as she had little motivation. I even helped put up Christmas decoration. Erik came with me sometimes, though he sat uneasily in the corner. They had an old piano in the living room that he tuned up and played one day, but it was a poor instrument regardless. He only played because I said it brought Laura joy. Of course, he didn't do it for her. He did it for me. It was always for me.

He loved me more than he would ever love anything.


	39. Chapter 39: Christmas

**This chapter is a bit short, but I wanted it on its own. Next chapter will be a filler before Christine goes into labor. I think I've decided to make that chapter entirely Erik's perspective, too.**

 **If you are reading this story and like it, PLEASE REVIEW. If anything, it helps motivate me to write more.**

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 **CHRISTINE**

We spent Christmas Eve with just us three, as I knew Erik wanted it that way, and Laura and her husband were going to her fathers'. It was good for me to be away from her pain as well, as I had had little energy of late. That was likely also due to the child I carried, but it had been different before. Now I could hardly get out of bed in the morning. My heart weighed me down.

I found myself almost envying Erik's lack of understanding for these things.

Viola didn't know what was going on with the holiday, but she was excited by the decorations and how affectionate we were being to each other. Erik was certainly making good use of the mistletoe. She was an outspoken little thing and she quickly began using "mah mah" for everything, as it had elicited many oohs and ahhs from Erik and I. It also became common for us to hear her shriek and turn our heads in horror, only to find her simply excited by something or another. She was a very lively child all of a sudden.

"We ought to get a dog," I told Erik that afternoon. "I feel like she would like a dog."

"Even after... what happened?" he asked.

"I'm fine now, dear. I just think it would be good for her to have something to play with."

"She's too young. She would hurt it."

"Well I don't mean _now_ , now. Once this baby is settled in, I think, or maybe before. She needs so much attention is all that I think a little dog would help give us more time to ourselves. Maybe a spaniel, those are good with children, aren't they?"

"I know nothing about dogs, my dear."

"Then I will find out." I glanced at the kitchen. "We ought to start or else dinner will be too late."

"And you're certain you can manage it?"

"Very much so. I'll rest if not, I promise. There's still two months left for this little one at least," I told him, patting where it grew inside me. "And you think most women stop cooking and cleaning while they're with child?"

He shrugged, "If you say so... but you also haven't been yourself."

"No, I haven't... but I'll try to put it out of mind. I think of Laura and Philippe having a merry Christmas and it helps me very much. I hope they are having a merry Christmas still... if they can..."

"They can adopt," he offered.

I shook my head. "I've told you. It would be like another man adopting me and trying to replace my father. It's not the same... but I think they are planning to. Laura has become insistent on retaining her milk, so I expect they will adopt a baby when they are ready..."

He lifted my face in his hands. "Don't think about them anymore today."

I kissed him and smiled as best I could. "I'll try."

He nodded and went to place Viola in her pen. He had made it for her to play in when we didn't want to worry about her trying to go up the stairs or stick objects in her mouth. This I set her inside with a few toys, and she was content for a whole half hour before she started crying for me in the middle of dinner preparations.

"I'll finish," Erik informed me. "Go calm her down."

"Oh, you can't get rid of me that easily," I teased. "I'll be back in a moment."

I placed my hands on my hips as I came upon Viola, who smiled in delight and raised her arms. She was wearing a cherry-red dress lined with lace. I sighed as I picked her up.

"What do you need, darling?" I asked. She cooed as I kissed her cheek. "Just attention is all? Let me check your diaper, though, to be sure. I know how much you love being changed."

She was so tempestuous. It was the same as it had been when she was a newborn, though, that she was perfectly well when someone was with her. If not, she couldn't bear it. At least she slept in her own room now, but that was as far as we could get with her being alone for long stretches of time.

"Are you excited for tonight?" I asked her. "Your father got you so many toys, and if you leave one of your little shoes out on the fireplace, Père Noël will place something special inside tonight."

It would be much more fun next year, when she had an understanding of what exactly was happening. I continued to talk to her about it, though, and she was only too happy to be spoken to. She even remained relatively calm as I changed her diaper; her face turned red to match her dress, but her whines were only halfhearted.

Erik had started setting out the table when we came back downstairs. I put her in her chair and began feeding her a bit of potatoes to keep her in a good mood. She grabbed the spoon in the middle of this endeavor, and promptly sent it flying.

"What was that?" Erik called from the kitchen.

"Just Viola throwing things again," I replied, trying to bend down and pick it up in spite of my swollen belly. "She's excited by everything... Could you get me another spoon?"

"Of course."

Our dinner was ready shortly after that. Viola fell asleep in her chair, and we didn't dare move her to somewhere more comfortable for fear she would wake. Erik listened to me reminisce about Christmases in Sweden and talk about how happy I was to spend one with him and our child.

"How do you think Laura is doing?" I then asked as I gingerly lifted Viola from her chair so we could all sit together.

"Don't worry about her. She's fine."

"But imagine not even having a Christmas with their child. Why couldn't God have given them that at least? It doesn't make sense. It's... it's not right-"

"Christine," he said, pained, "I don't want you upsetting yourself, today of all days. Stop talking about it and forget."

"I can't just forget about her loss for two days, though. That's not how it works."

"Just try-"

"Erik, you can't understand it. You simply can't. Just try for a moment to... imagine we lost Viola."

"Why would I imagine such a horrible thing?"

"Because then you can feel their pain-"

"Why on earth would I want to feel their pain?" he demanded, quite confused. "Is that why you're upset? You're acting like Viola is gone like their baby, is that why you hide away to cry sometimes?"

"Erik, you don't understand," I insisted, tearing up a bit. "It's not your fault that you can't, but you can't, a-and I can. She is my friend, so I love her, and I am upset by her loss as if it were mine. That is how a friend reacts to such things as this, or even simply a normal person... So please don't try to understand it, because you're right. It sounds ridiculous. Why force myself to think of their pain and imagine it as my own? Why cry over their loss when it has no real effect on me? Why not push it aside for the holidays? But beyond having known love all my life, I am also a woman, and a mother, so I also feel more. Women are more affected by men in these sorts of things."

"Men have to be the steadfast ones."

"Ha," I said bitterly, trying to hold back my gathering tears.

"What do you mean, 'ha?'"

"Nothing."

"I doubt you meant nothing."

"I was not referring to you, though. I was just... well, referring to the fact that men are supposed to be steadfast in support of their families, but when a tragedy occurs, the women are actually expected to stay steadfast. That is, mothers more. They have to keep the house well or else their husbands will be under even more stress, and often no one seems to care about how they feel."

"You feel very strongly about this."

"It's why I'm so happy to have a marriage like ours, where we love each other and are quite equal. I've seen very different marriages in most of my friends, that they have all these expectations to fill, and all their husbands have to do is go to work. They don't even have to be faithful! Did you know that Marguerite's husband is away every night and no one bats an eye because he puts food on the table? It's ludicrous."

"You should be part of that 'votes for women' movement rather than a charity with this sort of talk."

"Why not both?"

His face fell. "Now, I was being facetious-"

"What do you mean, facetious?"

"Don't go joining any radical movements-"

"Why not?"

"I don't want you in jail for something."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. Only women without children dare go that far. And besides, there's a risk I could be recognized, leading to you being found out, which I would never risk. I'm quite content with my little charity. Maybe when our children are married and we have time on our hands I'll make some signs and we can go marching in the streets, how is that? No one will recognize me in twenty years, anyway."

"In twenty years, yes, you can go picket wherever you please, but until then, let's be sure we stay quiet. I would love to see you marching down the Champs-Élysées with a great big sign, though. I hope I get to see that one day."

"I'm sure... It would be nice to vote one day, though, have a say in the government, however corrupt it likely is. Have you ever voted?"

"My dear Christine, phantoms do not vote."

I laughed. "No, that was a silly question... Oh, we ought to open gifts now, don't you think?" I bounced Viola on my knee. "How does that sound, my darling?"

She giggled as Erik went to retrieve our gifts from underneath the tree. They were wrapped in cherry red and green with bright bows on top. Viola started grabbing at her bow once it was placed beside her, feeling it in her fist as she held it tight, then she looked up at me, smiling and cooing.

"Isn't it pretty?" I said.

She pressed her mouth to it, dampening the paper. I was given mine then, and Erik got his. We had decided to only open one tonight, then the rest. I had only had time to buy him two things, though, which I had done two months ago.

"I love you," I told him.

"I love you, too," he replied, examining the little box in his lap. "Viola should go first."

"Yes, so she can stop eating her box. Viola, dear, help mama open it."

"Mah mah," she said, her lips forming each syllable with great care. "Mah mah."

"Yes, mama is going to help you open it. Grab this and pull it. You're good at destroying things, aren't you?"

She had no idea what was going on, so I unwrapped it for her. Inside was a white baby rattle painted with tulips.

"So you grab onto it," I told her as I formed her fist about the handle, "and shake it."

She stared at it for a moment. I shook her arm to make the sound, and she was quite taken for a full minute by it before she simply started chewing the handle.

"Your turn," Erik informed me.

"Oh, you go first."

"No."

"You never go first."

"I've only opened gifts once before... Tomorrow I will open mine first."

"Well, all right, then."

He had bought me an amethyst brooch in the shape of a blossom. I had him pin it on me to prove I liked it, as he was always so unsure of himself. Then he opened mine, which contained colorful socks I had knitted.

"I didn't think ahead that far, so I had to make everything," I told him.

"You act like you're apologizing."

"Well, I would rather have bought you something nice-"

"These are nice."

"I'm glad you like them, then."

I leaned in to kiss him, and he met my lips eagerly. He wove his hand into my hair, pulling me closer to deepen the kiss. As we parted, I smiled.

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas."

* * *

 **ERIK**

I had never understood why everyone went mad in the middle of winter, suddenly joyful in the midst of frost and want. There was beauty to snow, yes, but the bare cold, no one could enjoy. Yet these people would visit their families for a week or so and act like it was the end of summer.

Christine had such fine memories of Christmas, and I hoped I could make another for her that she could remember fondly. I tried to keep myself always bright and happy for her sake, or else risk her crying for her friend's tragedy again. She had too big a heart for her own good. I feared she might never overcome her grief, or that it might affect the child.

The night was one of the best I had ever spent with her. She put Viola down for bed early, so we had most of the night to ourselves. Christine made hot chocolate and we curled up together on the sofa under a blanket. She loved cuddling better than anything else. My arm went numb, but I dared not move it, as she had shut her eyes by then and rested her head on my shoulder.

"Do you want to go to bed now?" I whispered.

"Mm..."

"Christine?"

"I can't move now. I'm too comfortable."

"It's getting late."

She yawned. "I suppose..." Then her eyes popped open and she sighed. "Actually, I _will_ get up now."

"Why?"

"You know why," she replied, hurrying off into the bathroom.

We headed up to bed after that. She told me she was a bit tired to make love, so we agreed that we would find a time in the morning, or whenever Viola permitted us to disappear for a half hour.

The next morning was not as blissful as the previous night, however, because Viola had a fever and Christine had a hysterical fit about it. I had never seen her like that before in my life, not even when I was shot and bleeding. She had been cool and collected then, whereas now she could hardly breathe in her panic. I had to hold her until she calmed to steady her.

The combination of grief and being with child were not helping the situation, and it frightened me greatly. What if the baby came too soon from all the excitement? I nearly had a hysterical fit myself at the thought.

Christine calmed after a brief while. I told her that since Viola had no cough or spots it was likely just a cold. That was all. She nodded blankly, but I could tell she was only pretending to be all right for my sake. She had a terrible habit of pretending such things and often I didn't realize it until much later.

Evidently, we did not make love that morning, though she was in desperate need of it. Christmas was full of her tears and nothing I did much helped. I simply provided a shoulder and an arm for her to lean on and curl up in, and I tried to provide words as well, but Christine did not reply so well to those. She wanted touch. It calmed her more than words could ever.

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess," she told me that afternoon.

"No apologies," I insisted. "You have a right to be a mess now."

"But it's Christmas, and you ought to have a normal Christmas-"

"Last night was lovely. I require nothing more... Do you want to open the rest of your gifts, perhaps? To cheer you up?"

"If you open yours first, yes."

"Then I will do that."

Her gift for me was black silk pajamas. I only wore a nightshirt most nights now, at her insistence, and I was surprised at the gift.

"You said you hadn't bought me anything," I told her.

"I thought a bit ahead, I suppose," she beamed. "I thought they might help you sleep. They should be your size... They're so soft, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are..."

"You like them, don't you?"

"I'll wear them every night," I replied, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

She smiled. "I'm glad."

She proceeded to open hers. I had bought her a hat for spring, a pair of fur-lined slippers for her poor feet, and then a few baby clothes. She seemed quite happy with everything, and put the slippers on the moment she unwrapped them.

The days began to fly after Christmas. It felt like the next day was New Year's. Christine was doing well by then, and we had champagne and chocolate to celebrate the end of the year.

"Only two more months till our anniversary," she said happily. "It feels like we've been married much longer than that."

"Viola makes it seem that way."

"Yes, I think so... Hand me another chocolate."

I placed one covered in pink zigzags into her hand. She ate it thoughtfully, gazing out of the window at the falling snow.

"He'll be here in February," she said pensively, running her hand over her womb. "I'm becoming tired of not having him truly here yet. I want to see him."

The image of an infant turning its head out of the blankets to reveal distorted features suddenly bore itself into my mind.

"Me too," I lied. "Me too..."

She kissed me and I tasted chocolate on her lips.


	40. Chapter 40: Viola

**I have almost finished an Abyss chapter, just need to polish, really, and tie it up.**

 **This fic will end Ch. 42.** **Again, please review!**

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 **CHRISTINE**

February arrived, and with it came an increasingly anxious Erik. He would spend hours in the baby room, organizing and reorganizing, then insist he waited on me hand and foot, even when I said I didn't need it. Often he played music to calm himself, but this was in place of sleep. He had terrible nightmares, of me white and cold, or the baby with a deformity.

I was not such a fool to think I wouldn't prefer a baby without Erik's face. I admitted it to myself, but not to him. All he needed to know was that I would love the child, which I was certain I would either way. It would simply be easier to have a, for want of a better word, normal baby. It would be so much easier. That was all.

I prepared myself for either outcome, and I knew I would love my child regardless. There was no doubt in my mind as to that, simply that I would prefer an easier child to raise. But I could do anything with Erik. We had already been through so much together, and not even a year had passed. I felt confident in our marriage. We both supported each other in necessary ways.

Every day, Erik brought me and Viola to Laura's so she could be nursed. The only reason Laura did not come to us was so that we didn't have to play the part of host, as I knew she feared we would. I could tell it was giving Laura strength to be acting in such ways to us, and providing for a child with her milk. I was also quite certain her husband would decide to adopt a child very soon. She mentioned it once in passing, but not openly yet. There was a shame in adopting a child when a woman could not have one on her own. It was a ridiculous shame, but many things about society were and would always be ridiculous. I often forgot I had not carried Viola in my womb as I carried this child. How strange to forget such things...

Some nights she asked if she might watch Viola for us. I allowed it, but Erik only did so half heartedly. He simply said it was a bit unusual for her to be asking, but I replied that it was helping her overcome her grief, and I was happy to help her in any way I could, even if it was a bit odd. He nodded was all, his usual reply.

Viola began to talk more- incoherently, of course- and Erik took a habit to talking back like he could understand her. It was wonderful to watch. She would say "bah bah" sometimes, which excited him, but her favorite word, for everything, even her own delight, was "mah mah." If anything, she was a bit _too_ noisy. I had never experienced such a noisy baby before in all my life. They were always two big eyes, only looking on with interest, and if not that, they cried. She was certainly not like that, and I enjoyed it... most of the time.

My unborn baby was dragging me down. He kept me from getting up from my bed most mornings, though Erik was mostly to blame for that. He coddled me excessively. Sometimes I accepted it with eagerness, other times I insisted on doing things on my own.

Oh, I wanted that baby out by then, no matter what pain it brought. My back ached, my ankles swole up, and even though Erik was only to happy to give me massages, he couldn't alleviate all that pain. Worse, my nausea had returned, and not the little distaste for milk as I had felt before. I couldn't eat or drink anything even remotely similar. Anything white could send me reeling. This added to Erik's anxiety as milk was supposed to be good for me to be drinking all the time. If he even mentioned this, though, off I went to find a basin or bowl. I rarely actually needed it, but I felt like I did each time. It was miserable, and that was not even mentioning my feeling of almost always being near tears. I had no idea why, but a mere word could sent me into a fit of sobs. It was humiliating to be acting so weak. I couldn't bear it.

"Maybe it's due sooner than we think," I groaned one morning as I sat up in bed and ran my hands over my swollen belly. "I can't live like this for much longer. I won't. I would rather just have the pain and be done with it."

"The baby should come at the end of the month, you said."

"I'm not that certain. Oh, that's four weeks still, though!"

"I'm glad of it," he replied quietly. "I don't want it to come. I don't want to not know if I'm going to see you again or if the baby is-"

"Erik-"

"Why did you have to have a baby?" he exclaimed, quite suddenly and with no provocation. "We did everything to prevent it! Everything! Even if you are all right, does that mean we will have to endure this again? I'm not made to be a father anyway! I'm useless in that respect, utterly useless!"

He went over to the window to get some air, breathing heavily. A cool breeze came into the room.

"Erik, you haven't slept," I told him, going to where he stood and wrapping my arms about him. My unborn child was wedged between us. "You need to sleep. You're anxious about so many things-"

"I shouldn't be... I-I shouldn't be, you should be the only one concerned, and I should help you, not cause you more stress-"

"Oh, dear, no, you're not causing me stress," I crooned. "Not a bit. You're such a wonderful husband and a father. You know that, or at least, you should. Your little conversations with Viola always make me smile, and you insist on rubbing my shoulders everyday to soothe my aches... You're absolutely wonderful."

He began to cry. When he was tired, he often had these outbursts, then cried in shame, unable to express himself. It was a miserable affair, and I hardly had the energy then. But I coaxed him back to bed and calmed him enough that he was back to his usual self: he went down to make me breakfast in bed. Caring for me was one of the best ways to help him feel better, so I allowed it.

I brought Viola into our room a moment later, though, having heard her cry. We must have woken her, but I would not tell Erik such a thing.

"How is my little girl this morning?" I asked, bouncing her up and down on my bed.

"Ahh," she replied, reaching out to grab my buttons.

"Did you have fun with Laura last night? She's going to adopt a child just like we did with you, you know."

I bounced her again to distract her from my apparently-delicious buttons. She giggled, but continued her pursuit.

"Your legs are getting so strong. You might be walking by the time your little brother or sister is here."

I wrapped her hand about her painted rattle. She shook it once, but tired of it and simply started chewing on the handle. I brushed back her brown hair, which was still only a bit of fuzz atop her head. Then I grabbed a blanket and threw it over my head. She fell silent, then gasped in delight as I pulled it off. It was a favorite game of hers.

We played until Erik brought up my breakfast, along with a bowl of mashed peas for her. He set her on his lap and fed her as I ate.

"What's the piece you were playing last night?" I asked.

"It has no name," he replied, not looking up from the spoonful of peas.

"Then it is yours?"

"Mine, yes."

"What inspired it?"

"My mind."

"Of course, but... an event, or?"

He shrugged.

"Erik, are you trying not to make conversation?"

"I am deep in thought at the moment so perhaps not," he retorted. "Sometimes I don't want to answer questions, certainly not be bombarded by them."

"I was only trying to make you feel better by talking about music," I replied coldly. "But if you are going to be rude about it then of course I'll be quiet."

He continued giving Viola her peas. I ate my breakfast on an unsettled stomach. Why did he have to be acting like this now, when I needed him most to be calm and collected? That only added to his stress, though, that he ought to be those things but was under too much pressure to do them. He was trapped in his own mind.

We spent the morning horribly silent, with the occasional curt question and reply. It was agony. Only during lunch did we have a conversation and it was about what foods Viola ought to be introduced to soon, that was all.

After that we went to Laura's house. We were often her only company, as she was alone during the day while her husband was working. Her relatives were also far; her father lived in Lyon and her mother in Marseille. They had never been divorced, as they were Catholic, but they were certainly no longer married. Laura never spoke much about them, as she was embarrassed by their loose marriage and how far they were from her. Her husband's family was far more dear, but all the women had multiple children and little time to have tea and talk, so she had slept most days away or forced herself to do housework. Sometimes Clarice might call on her, but not often, as she had to support her and her son. Her husband had not cared too much about the state of their house and meals, but when Erik and I had seen him last, he had been a bit irritated by it. For the past few weeks, however, she had kept the place quite neat. A great change had come over her. I was relieved to see it.

"Good afternoon," she told us when we arrived. I was astounded to find that she had made us both tea and cakes, which were sitting on a dining table covered in doilies.

"Oh, Laura, you needn't do such things," I told her.

"I haven't felt so happy in months now," she replied, smiling. "It was my pleasure. How are you both?"

"Well. And you?"

"Better than yesterday." Then she smiled like a girl. "I have exciting news."

"What?"

"Philippe and I are adopting a little girl."

"Oh! I'm so happy for you both, and that you're well enough to now. I've been so worried about you."

"Yes, it's been difficult..." She drifted off for a moment, then returned. "But we are finding our way to peace, and she will certainly help. The church has been so helpful, too. I hope you will visit once you are well enough?"

"Certainly. I still need to have Viola christened. I thought I would bring her and the baby at the same time."

"Our priest is wonderful for christenings. He once made me cry."

"Oh, dear."

"It was the day we brought Théo..."

We fell silent for a moment. It was difficult to know what to say with such things as these. I sat down with her on the sofa as Erik drifted into the dining room.

"I had a dream about him," she told me, "last night. My priest told me it was a vision, but I don't believe so. No, it was a dream. He was in the middle of a lavender field- a boy, though, not a baby. He looked just like my brother, but I knew it was Théo, and not him. He was so terribly happy, running and playing. The sun was so terribly bright... It's good to be reminded that he's happy."

"I'm certain it is."

"Tea!" she exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "Oh, I talk too much-"

"Not at all."

I nearly refused for her to serve us, but she, like Erik, received joy out of it, so I let her. We sat and spoke for a time while we indulged. Erik remained in the dining room so that Laura could nurse while she spoke to me, though she covered herself with a little blanket for privacy. She was a very modest woman, even more than I had been. I doubted I would ever have need of a blanket, but perhaps only because I would be home with only Erik and Viola for company.

Once Viola finished, Erik went to play a bit of music on her piano. It was mostly Mozart, but there was one of his own as well.

"I quite like that one," she told him once the last was finished. "Who wrote it?"

"He did," I replied.

"Lord above, monsieur, why are you not a famous composer? I didn't realize you wrote songs of your own, and you were talented enough before!"

He stiffened at her praise. "Madame, my music is only for those I know, those I love, not the world."

"That ought to be the quote of a famous composer as well," she remarked, "but how noble of you to say such a thing. I'm grateful to have heard it... My Théo loved music, you know. His eyes always lit whenever I sang to him. I sing to your Viola often, too, however poor it is in comparison to yours, but I sing, just like I did with him... Would you mind playing that piece again?"

He obliged.

We remained there the whole afternoon, and she offered for us to stay for dinner, which I agreed to. Erik took me aside afterward, though, rather upset with my decision.

"Don't you want to go home?" he asked. "We spend too much time here anyway-"

"Erik, we can't refuse an offer like that. It would be rude. And the fact is we have no excuse, as I am far along and you aren't expected to be cooking meals for me. She's being polite is all."

"She'll be glad of us leaving. Why would she want to cook for four people in her state?"

"Because it makes her feel good, the way it does when you care for me."

"It would be better of us to refuse."

"Is she your friend?" I demanded, putting my hands on my hips.

"No."

"Do you know her better than I do?"

"No, but logically-"

"Erik, people aren't logical. Yes, logically we ought to refuse, but you've seen how she's acted today. It would mean a lot to her if we stayed."

He threw up his hands. "Then I suppose we are staying! What does anything I say matter?"

"Of course it matters. Oh, why are you in such a terrible mood today? Life is hard for me too right now, you know. You're not the only one who fears he may lose a loved one. I have been horribly reminded of Viola's fragility by the loss of my closest friend's baby. And I was carrying a baby during it! I understand how upset you are, but you need to know that you are not alone in it and should not act like you know things you do not... We are staying for dinner because Laura needs me to."

"Does she need me?"

"Erik-"

"I'll take Viola home-"

"She loves Viola, though-"

"Well Viola isn't her baby, is she?"

"You know, you ought to go home. You're right. I don't want Laura and her husband ending up in tears because of your lack of tact!"

I went to get Laura, my chest filled with heat. She was in her bedroom, and when I knocked, she opened the door.

"My husband is not feeling well," I told her. "He's going home."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you need to leave, too?"

"I thought I'd stay. He can come bring me home afterward."

"Is he taking Viola?" she asked as she sat at a pine-wood desk.

"No."

"Oh, good. But whatever you want to do..." She looked up at me, inquisitive. "You both are doing well, aren't you?"

"Considering, yes."

"I'm glad... You like mussels, don't you? I bought them for dinner."

"That sounds lovely. I like most things- save, well, at the moment, you know."

"I know. Théo always made me want chocolate and anything pickled." She made a face. "I can't stand the thought now. Hot chocolate every day, three times a day. My husband was beside himself... my husband..." Her gaze hardened. "C-could I confide something in you, Christine? That you will never say to anyone?"

"Of course."

"You're good at secrets, aren't you?"

"Sadly. Even if not, who would betray you now?"

She smiled weakly. "Yes... who? But not even your husband can know. I know you two share everything with each other, but please not this."

"Of course. I understand entirely"

I sat at attention in a rocking chair, hands clasped, to show I was listening. She took a deep breath.

"I think my husband might be..." She fidgeted with her wedding ring. "Well, he had to endure this with me, and it makes sense, but... and I'm also not the prettiest woman anymore. I was fairly pretty when I was young, but now... and after not having any children... n-not really, I... It makes sense that he would be late for dinner every so often, and out at night, doesn't it? He still provides for me, though, and he loves me. He bought me such a lovely dress just yesterday, when he came home at nine o'clock, and he smelled like... h-he... I-I don't know what to do. There's nothing I can do. He'll come back to me, I'm certain, once the pain has passed, but can't I remedy it? Does he really need to find it elsewhere? Am I not giving him enough?

I was trembling with rage by then, and I said in a low voice, "Are you not giving him enough? How dare he be away from you, how dare he! And that you blame yourself- it's not your fault. You are a kind, beautiful woman, Laura. He is a fool to see anything but you. An utter fool. I don't care what has happened. He has to be here for you, and... Oh, when he comes home he's going to find a very angry woman with an unborn child and a stick!"

I meant that to bring a bit of levity to the subject, but instead she burst into tears.

"Maybe I'm seeing things," she replied, sniffling. "S-sometimes, at night, I think Théo is beside me, and I h-hold him, but he's gone in the morning... maybe I'm seeing things that aren't t-there."

"Perhaps... he could be drinking?" I offered.

"I would prefer that he was going to cathouses instead." And she promptly burst into tears again. "He never smells of liquor, only..."

"Do you want me to find out for you?" I asked as I rubbed her back to comfort her.

"H-how would you manage that?"

"My husband is a man of many trades. He can find out where your husband is going very easily. I doubt he hides his steps, either."

"Christine... I would rather keep our marriage intact by pretending to be ignorant. He will return once he has finished grieving. He will. I only wanted to tell someone, not do anything about it. What is there to be done?"

"Well-" but I faltered. What could we do about it? Nothing. She was absolutely right. He could do as he pleased with little repercussions, and if we did confront him, he could leave her, or worse, humiliate her in front of everyone. It was terribly twisted. "All right. If you believe that, and are content with it, then... then I suppose it will have to do. But I can't believe him. I can't believe he would do that to you."

She shrugged, "Men are easily distracted is all. He wants a distraction, to forget..."

"Anything you need, tell me," I insisted to her, clasping her hands in mine. "Anything."

She refused my gaze for some reason. "I will... thank you..." Her eyes suddenly lit. "A-actually, since your husband isn't well, why don't you go home with him? I can take care of Viola for you both and you can come bring her home later. You need your rest."

"You need rest, too."

"I have had too much rest. I want to play with a little girl instead, distract myself, or else I'll... I'll go mad."

"Well, then... that's kind of you. And anything we can do to help you, we will... I expect you also want practice with a little girl now that you know you're adopting."

"Exactly, and for your sake... She brings me so much joy."

"I'm glad... Yes, I'll go home. You're in my prayers."

She smiled. "And you mine, for the new baby."

I ran my hands over where he grew within me. "Thank you... Come downstairs so you can hold Viola while we leave. It helps her not to be too upset."

She nodded and followed me downstairs. Erik was sitting with Viola on their floral sofa, shaking her rattle. She cooed.

"We're going home," I informed him. "Laura is going to watch her until tonight."

"Can she watch her and make dinner?" he asked, skeptical.

I turned to Laura, who gestured to the high seat at the dining room table.

"She can sit in there, can't she?" Laura smiled. "I'll make her some rice."

"All right, then," I said. "Are you satisfied, dear?"

He nodded and went to give Viola to Laura. Something odd crossed over his features, and he bent down to kiss his daughter's forehead. He had never done that without coaxing.

"Goodbye," he said.

We left then. Viola started wailing, but she would quiet, as she always did. I wanted to start conversation the minute we had stepped into the cart, but Erik was in no mood for it still. It was so irritating to have something between the two of us.

"We have the evening to ourselves," I said, attempting to make peace. "Why not make up a little picnic in front of the fire, like we did before? We have that good Brie you bought the other day, with the Chardonnay, do you think?"

"You want a romantic evening now?" he asked.

I was unable to stem my irritation as I crossed my arms. "What do you mean by that?"

"A-after... how I have been."

My arms fell to my sides. "Oh... Well, yes, of course. I want to have us back to our usual selves, not avoiding each other and being short-tempered."

"I freeze," he admitted. "I can't think, like a rabbit. I don't mean a word-"

"I know. I know. It's the lack of sleep, and all that anxiety about the baby." I ran my hand along his back, then up to rub his shoulder. "We can have a nice, romantic dinner together to relax you, then go get Viola. Doesn't that sound nice? Won't that help you forget?"

His eyes softened behind his full mask. "It will... But I'll put it together, not you. You rest."

"All right. I'll knit another hat for the baby."

He was silent for a moment, then he added, "You're very good at making little clothes."

"I'm glad you think so."

"And socks. They're very warm."

"I'm glad you like them..."

When we arrived home, I made the blanket up and lit candles and the fire until it was warm and comfortable, just like before. Thinking back on it, it seemed a rather cruel thing to do- embrace and kiss while not permitting anything more, when we both wanted more desperately. How silly I had been. I felt like becoming a mother had helped ground me, as before I had kept my head in the clouds all the time, happily naive. I didn't want to be naïve now.

Erik made roast chicken and vegetables for dinner, but we started with the wine and cheese while that cooked. We were silent for a time, enjoying being close again. He made tentative movements and I affirmed them to be sure he knew I was enjoying him.

I could never stand conflict.

I curled up into him after we had eaten, finding myself exhausted from not having a nap that day. We had chocolates for dessert, then Erik wrapped around me and made it impossible for me to stay awake. He stroked my hair as I drifted off.

Without warning, there came a knock at the door.

"Would you get that, dear?" I asked, my eyelids drooping.

He kissed my forehead. "Perhaps Laura's husband brought Viola back for us."

"Probably. That must be it."

He kissed me again, and once more to make me laugh, then he went to put on his mask and answer the door. Laura's husband stood there in a hat and scarf, shuffling his boots in the snow. His face was flushed, but he seemed quite cheerful.

"Good evening, monsieur," he said. "I've come to bring my wife home."

"Your wife is at home," Erik replied stiffly.

His face fell, slowly. "No, she's... I thought she was with you."

My heart faltered, and I went over to the doorway. Erik opened his mouth to speak, but I interrupted.

"We left Viola with her," I said, beginning to panic. "W-where could she have gone-?"

"Viola!" Philippe exclaimed. "Your little girl?"

"Yes, w-what-?"

"Christine, don't excite yourself," Erik insisted to me. "Go sit down, I can sort this- go up to your room, even. She must have gone into town is all-"

"Monsieur," Philippe said, "I fear she has run off!"

"Why would she?"

"She's been acting so strange, and I knew there was something with your child, I knew, how could I have known-?"

"Viola!" I cried, horrified at the thought of her out in the cold. "Erik, Erik you have to go get her! You have to! Oh lord above! If Laura has gone mad, then-!"

"Christine, of course I will! You try to calm yourself, please, you don't want to have the baby- deep breaths, it's too early, calm yourself, go sit down-"

"You have to bring her home!"

He grabbed my shoulders. "I will. I promise..." He turned to Philippe, his gaze fiery. "Stay with my wife, monsieur."

"But monsieur-"

"You will do as I say!" he snapped. "You gave us no warning of how ill your wife was, and so I will be the one to sort this out! My wife is soon to give birth and she needs someone here, though I hardly trust you with that, how you have disregarded your own wife in her time of need!"

My mouth fell open. Of course he knew, though.

"Monsieur, please-"

"Christine, I will find her," he insisted to me. "Keep yourself calm. You know I will find her."

"I know," I replied, my heart racing. "I love you."

He ran out the door, dragging his coat. Tears welled up in my eyes. I heard him saddling Hazel, and she kicked up the fresh layer of snow as they went towards Laura's house.

I inhaled and exhaled through a clenched jaw, tapping my foot. For a moment, I paced. As I went in front of the fireplace to busy my hands with undoing our picnic, a fiery pain entered my stomach and I clutched it, moaning. Tears burned my eyes.

"M-madame?" Philippe said as he wiped perspiration from his brow. "It's coming?"

I started crying again. "Yes... Yes, get someone, quickly!"

He ran out the door, slamming it in his wake. The wind howled outside, and the snow kept falling.


	41. Chapter 41: Seven Hours

**I've finally finished my play. That was why I was so inactive. Always so busy this time of year.**

 **One more chapter to go on this fic! It will not be an epilogue, if anyone is curious.**

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 **ERIK**

The fresh snow meant that there would be footprints to follow. Laura seemed to have gone into the forest, and I pursued her on a tentative Hazel. The trees, however, dappled the falling snow and made finding a trail tedious. I wandered aimlessly for some time, considering her likely path and finding a print in the snow here or there, among other clues. But they were few and far between.

She couldn't have gone far on foot, and her husband's horse had been in its stall. Was she mad enough to forget the cold? Forget shelter? That I did not believe. She was headed for some hiding place, somewhere to rest and warm herself.

I continued my pursuit. An owl hooted in the distance. The sun had long since set, and in its place was a clear black sky.

A cabin appeared, termite-bitten and groaning under the weight of the snow. No lights were inside, but perhaps she knew not to light a candle. Perhaps she was not so far gone.

"Laura?" I called. "Laura, I've..." What should I say to a madwoman? "lost my daughter. I need your help to find her."

Silence. Perhaps she was not even there.

"Laura, my wife is very far along now, and it's not good for her to be under such stress. I need your help."

No reply again. I decided to break down the door, a simple affair. It practically shattered beneath my boot.

There was the scent of smoke inside. Someone had lit a fire in the fireplace, which was now smoldering. She had been here, perhaps to warm Viola, the poor little thing. How could that woman endanger our child, after what happened to hers? She must have been quite mad, enough to be placed in an institution, certainly, away from Christine and our daughter. Far away.

I knew she had gone through the woods, but which direction, I knew not. She had fled through falling snow that had covered any tracks she may have left. My only hope was to find a broken branch on the ground, or perhaps a piece of fabric caught on a protruding twig.

The snow that would have made my task simple made it impossible by falling thickly along her path. I knew she ought to have gone north, though. She would have run in a straight line from the house to whatever destination she had in mind. After all, she had known she would be alone for hours. She had no need of covering her tracks.

A bright something far off was tugged at by the wind. It was a torn bit of white fabric, stuck on a twig, ornamenting it like snow. I pursued that course.

My toes were numb by then, and my fingers followed, freezing against Hazel's harness. The thought of Viola in this cold kept my blood hot, though, and I continued on with greater resolve. That was when I suddenly realized, for the first time, that this was not all for Christine. I had always done everything for her and her alone; now I was doing it for Viola. Of course, I wanted to bring back Christine's child to alleviate her concerns, but Viola was my child, too.

The snow grew thick, but that was when tracks brushed with fresh snow began to form, and I pursued with more haste. It was then that I came to my childhood home. A few street lamps were lit.

Why had she come there?

I went towards the inn first. Perhaps she had thought to take some money and found herself a place to sleep. The streets were practically empty; everyone was inside because of the snow. There were a few children roaming the sidewalks throwing snowballs. One hit me on the back, and I turned to them. The child's eyes widened in fear.

"S-sorry, monsieur," he trembled out. "I-I thought you were someone else."

I dismounted Hazel and approached him. "Did you happen to see a woman pass by or enter any of these houses with a baby?"

"Yes, e-earlier. Sh-she went towards the ghost house."

"Ghost house?"

"The ghost burned it down."

"Ah, yes. I know that place well."

I went down the street towards the ruins. The foundations were still standing, simply blackened with soot. The roof had caved in, the door turned to ashes. I stared at it with loathing.

"Madame?" I called. "Madame, I'm Christine's husband."

Silence. I doubted she would be inside the broken remains of a house, and after a peek inside, I found no one. I continued down the street on Hazel. The children were called inside then. A glance at my pocket-watch and I found I had already been gone two hours from the house. The thought of Christine tense with anxiety that long made me conceal the watch and its torments.

I realized Laura must have come to the town to fetch a brougham, or some other means of transportation. The only likely destination was Rouen, which was of little help to me, as large a city as it was. I had to consider what a madwoman might think to do, find my way inside her head.

She needed to keep the baby warm. Did she have the money for a room at an inn? Perhaps, but it was a risk, as she might be found out. I doubted she was thinking well enough to have taken enough money for that, so I started off towards the outskirts of Rouen. Would she risk the kindness of strangers? But then, how did she expect to provide for the child?

It took another hour to travel to the city, but I tried not to think of the time. I wandered aimlessly along empty streets, my mind suddenly drained of possibilities as my stomach knotted with worry. What if she was hurt? A little woman like her at night, why, she could be murdered or worse. And what would they do with Viola?

I put the thought from my mind. As I glanced to my right, a gaping alleyway appeared, black as soot. Two figures knelt there, a bundle between them. They seemed to be huddling for warmth.

"Good evening," I told them as I dismounted, tying Hazel to an available fence post, though she knew well enough to stay.

One stood up, clasping the bundle, and fled down the alleyway. The other came towards him, her fists white as her eyes narrowed. Her hair was blonde and hung down her shoulders in disarray.

"You horrible man!" she cried. "Get away from her!"

She was a spinster, perhaps, or a prostitute, from the red dress she wore beneath a ragged black coat. I put up my hands to calm her.

"Horrible man?" I demanded. "That madwoman has my daughter!"

"You would take away the only joy in her life? After all she has told me-"

"That is my daughter!"

She bent her knees, preparing to land a blow. I nearly laughed, but the situation was too desperate for such a thing.

"You'll have to get past me," she said.

"I'll pay you to help me find her," I replied.

"I get my wages fair enough," she retorted venomously, "Monsieur de Vaux."

"That is not my name. Who do you think I am? I'm looking for my daughter! She was taken by a woman as mad as you!"

Her fists fell to her sides, and she squinted in the night air. "You wear a mask... I assumed... No matter. I'm glad you're not him... But you are searching for a woman? What does she look like? If the price is fair, I can find anyone in this city."

"Oh? Any man, perhaps, but not a woman."

"Every desperate woman runs to one place, monsieur. How much?"

I extended ten francs to her. "I'll give you twenty when you find her."

She grinned. "Follow me."

We started down the street. She knew the city well, that much was obvious by her swift steps.

"Why were you out in the cold?" I asked. "You said you make a fair wage."

"By soliciting, monsieur. Best business around. Cold nights are often quite busy. If you'd be interested, I can-"

"I'm married."

She laughed like a rusty door-hinge. "How long?"

"A year."

"Give it a couple more."

I grabbed her arm and jerked her around to face me. "I love my wife."

"Are we not finding your daughter, monsieur?" she answered sweetly.

I did not like her, but I silently followed. How else would I find Viola? She seemed very sure of herself, and perhaps she knew more than she revealed.

We continued down to a door at the end of the alleyway. There were black windows above it, though one was bright and warm. The noise was muffled until the door swung open, revealing a stout woman with red cheeks. Behind her were floral sofas and a roaring fire. A handful of girls lay about in bright dresses, and someone was playing the piano- poorly, but with great enthusiasm. The snow was, evidently, not as good for business as the cold.

The stout woman smiled at me. "Good evening, monsieur-"

"I'm looking for my daughter," I replied.

She blinked. "Daughter? What's her name?"

"Not a prostitute, a baby! A woman stole her. Laura. She's gone mad."

"Laura? I don't know a Laura."

"Madame," the girl interjected, "he will pay."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the woman replied. "Begone unless you want a girl, monsieur."

"Maman, he will pay! Surely you know-?"

"Why would a woman with a baby come to a cathouse? A nunnery is more likely, or a church. Or an orphanage for the baby? Oh, I don't have time for such things! Why do you have your head in the clouds all the time, Lis? Get back out there and find an actual customer-"

"You said a church?" I asked.

"Yes, of course. Now, monsieur, I'm quite busy-"

"Which would you think? Where in Rouen?"

"How many churches do you think there are, monsieur? Why not knock on their doors rather than waste our time?"

I went out the door and mounted Hazel. She was growing tired, so I couldn't push her along very much. I spent hours wandering the city for churches, knocking on each of their doors to find bleary-eyed priests and nuns. None had seen a woman with a baby, but I was certain Laura would have gone to a church for the night. They wouldn't know the child wasn't hers.

Towering steeples became a menace. It had been hours of fruitless conversation. I was barely standing from fatigue.

I came upon a cluster of street urchins around a fire in the street. A little boy told me a woman had come to warm her baby for a moment before heading for the church.

"Which church?" I demanded.

He shrugged his frail shoulders. "The big one. They gives soup."

I handed him a franc, then continued down the street towards yet another place of worship. A lamp burned in the window. I tied Hazel outside and knocked on the great oak doors. They opened to me when I tried them, and there was a nun, watching over a figure in the pews.

"Good evening, monsieur," she said. "Do you wish to speak to-?"

"I'm looking for my daughter. She was taken from me."

The figure rose from the pews and darted through an open doorway. Her footsteps resonated on the stairs. I pursued.

"Monsieur!" the nun cried. "Monsieur, please! This is a place of rest! Monsieur!"

Viola's wails echoed as I climbed the spiral staircase.

"Laura!" I shouted. "Laura, my daughter! Christine's daughter, give her back!"

I panted with exertion, my knees beginning to buckle. How could Laura continue still?

"Laura!"

The footsteps ceased. The musty air gave way to the night, and above us, the stars shone through the city smog. Laura stood behind the bell tower. I extended my hands to her.

"Laura, do you know me?" I asked.

She blinked, clutching the bundle to her chest. "You are trying to take my child."

"Your child was a little boy. He slipped away in the night."

She shook her head. "No. I had a little girl. Her name is Marguerite."

"Viola. Her name is Viola. Christine and I found her abandoned in the forest."

"I carried Marguerite in my womb. You are mistaken."

"Laura, my wife is with child. She is nearing her time, and she is afraid for our daughter. I fear the anxiety may make the baby come too soon. I need you to give Viola back to me."

"You're mistaken."

I thought for a moment. "You're right... You're right, then let's take you home."

"I am home, in the church."

"Yes, yes, you have always had very strong faith. Christine told me. Then let me take you back down where it is warm, with the priest to speak to."

Footsteps clamored up the staircase. A few nuns appeared with a priest.

"What is this?" he demanded. "Leave, monsieur."

"This woman has taken my daughter," I told him. "She's gone mad."

"She does not speak like one mad," a nun interjected. "Leave or we shall have you removed. You cannot hound people who come to the church for refuge."

"She has my daughter!"

I turned upon hearing a flutter of footsteps. Laura leapt up onto the ledge overlooking the city with the agility of a cat. Everyone ran to her at once.

"Laura!" I cried. "Laura, the baby!"

"Madame! There is no heaven for you if you fall!"

"Come down from there!"

Two nuns began to pray. The priest argued for her soul, and another nun simply pleaded with her to come down. Laura stared at us with her dark eyes reflecting the starry sky.

I tried again. "Laura... Laura, you love my daughter as you loved your son, don't you?"

She began to mutter a phrase. It sounded faintly like a passage of the Bible, and the priest went forward to her, repeating it as she did. In this odd moment, she handed Viola to him. Her eyes were glassy. He gave the child to a nun just as she took another step closer to the precipice. She turned away from us, her arms out at her sides like wings. Everyone cried out in unison.

I ran and grabbed her by the waist. She came down onto the hard brick with a cry as I pinned her down, out of danger. She offered no resistance, but shrieked and pleaded incoherently. The two nuns continued praying. The priest came to help me, and the other nun appeared to have fainted.

I secured her until the police arrived to take her away to an institution. They gave me the address to give to her husband. The moment I had the note clutched in my hand, I went to mount Hazel. She had regained a bit of her strength, but we went home at an exhausted pace. I held Viola in my arms. She had fallen asleep, blissfully unaware as to the fact that she might have died. My heart faltered at the thought, and I felt sick. I was well accustomed to death and madness, yet I was still in a fair amount of shock. It began to fade as the house came into view. A glance at my watch, and I found it to be three in the morning.

It had been seven hours since I had left. My poor Christine! She must have been sick with worry all this time. I should have taken Viola immediately rather than wait for the police, that might have spared an entire hour!

A moan issued from the house as I dismounted. My blood ran cold.

"Christine!" I cried, hurrying inside. "Christine!"

Laura's husband was sitting on the sofa, wringing his hands. His eyes were red and watery. He rose to block me from the stairs, holding out his arms.

"She's having the baby," he told me. "Don't disturb them. It's all going quite well, the midwife- but where is my wife? Where is Laura?"

I pushed him aside, rushing up the stairs. He called after me, confused at why I was entering the birthing room. Christine moaned again, the sound echoing through the hallway, then she fell horribly silent. I opened the door to her bedroom, my heart throbbing in my throat and my stomach cold and writhing.

"Monsieur!" the midwife exclaimed in horror. "We are nearly finished here, out, out!"

"Is she all right?" I pleaded.

"Erik," Christine said tiredly, reaching out to take my hand. Her face was covered with perspiration and her eyes barely open. "Viola..."

"You need to push, madame, once more, I can almost see the head... Monsieur, out! Out!"

"Viola is here with me," I told her, ignoring the flustered midwife.

Christine smiled up at her, her eyelids drooping. "I knew you would find her." Her features grew taut, and she moaned again, seeming to try and quiet her pain for our sakes.

"The head is born!" the midwife said. "Now for heavens sakes, get out, monsieur! This is your wife's place, not yours. Go wait with the other while we finish this business."

"Please," Christine asked, squeezing my hand. "Madame... Madame, he must."

"Oh, we don't have time for this nonsense! Push, dear, one more, all your strength- out of the way, monsieur, at least!"

Christine cried out one last time, and it turned into pants of relief as her eyes shut. A harsh wail rang out. The desperation of it surprised me. I froze where I stood, Viola still in my arms, beginning to cry herself from all the commotion.

I didn't give a damn about propriety at that moment. I craned my neck to see the baby's face as the midwife snipped the cord. My heart stopped.

It was a boy. His upper lip was split in two with a great gap extending up into his nose. The skin on the side of his face was warped like mine, resembling melted wax, but without the empty patches I had on my head. Oh, but his _mouth_. Would it affect his speech? Would he have trouble suckling?

I was too stunned, too disappointed, to say anything. I had failed Christine. I had failed my child.

"I-is he all right?" Christine panted, her eyelids fluttering open. "Please, is he-?"

"Healthy," the midwife sighed. "Early, but healthy, in a way. He has a hare lip is all, it seems, poor dear. Medicine how it is, though, maybe someone can fix it, or will in the coming years. I know little about it, but he won't feed without a bottle, I believe. I've never delivered one before, but I've heard they need special bottles... You need a doctor, madame, when you can get one, but don't fret-"

"Let me hold him," she pleaded, reaching out her trembling arms. The midwife obliged her. "Erik, come see him... Oh, how beautiful he is! How beautiful!"

She was too exhausted to be lying for my sake. I stared at her in wonder. There was no disappointment in her face, simply fatigue and joy, but a bit of sorrow bled through. Her eyes began to well up with tears.

"We have a son, Erik," she whispered as I crept to her side. "Oh, let me hold my babies, my little Viola and... Erik, what name did we decide on? I can't seem to remember, I-"

"Your father's."

"But his first name."

"I thought you said-"

"I changed my mind... oh, what did I change it to? I'm so tired... and hungry, could you get me something?"

"Certainly, yes-"

"Oh, Thomas! I want to name him Thomas."

"Then he is Thomas..."

"It suits him?"

I nodded weakly. "Thomas... I-I'll get you something to eat."

"Thank you... my little Thomas..."

When I returned a mere fifteen minutes later, she was asleep. The midwife had bathed the baby and placed him in a cradle beside her. Viola was asleep next to her mother.

"You ought to move her," the midwife said, gesturing to Viola. "The bedsheets are ruined. She nearly gave birth on the sofa downstairs, poor thing. She was very strong, though. It's impossible for most women to stand during birth, but that man and I helped her up to the bed. Made it much simpler. Very easy birth. Shame about the lip, though, but there are ways to help it, I'm sure. At least he's not a girl. A man can overcome that sort of face, but not a girl."

I hardly understood a word. I drifted over to Christine's side and retrieved Viola, then I bent down to kiss her damp forehead. Tears burned my eyes, but I pushed them away for the time.

Christine stirred, but remained blissfully asleep. I went over to the cradle. He was wrapped up in a white blanket, with a knitted hat on his head. His forehead wrinkled in sleep. He must have been dreaming.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to him.

My knees buckled, and I knelt down beside the cradle, my eyes hot with tears.

"I'm sorry..."


	42. Chapter 42: The End and the Beginning

**Welcome to the final chapter! Enjoy! Be sure to leave a review if you have read this fic through.**

 **I am going to post a new E/C tomorrow. It is third-person, so a bit different from my normal stuff, but I like how it's turning out. I hope you like it as much as this one (maybe more?).**

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 **CHRISTINE**

I woke on clean sheets, which was a relief, but I also found that to be all that concealed me. Erik had set out a nightgown on the edge of the bed, however, and I pulled it over my head immediately. As I buttoned it, I glanced over at the cradle. Thomas was sleeping peacefully, his head turned to reveal his warped cheek and the gaping hole between his mouth and nose. He was practically bald, with a few brown hairs in the middle of his head.

I loved him like I had loved Viola the first time our eyes had met. He was just as fragile as her, but warm from being tightly wrapped in blankets. I reached out for him and pulled him tight against my chest.

"Good morning, little one," I whispered as I stroked his forehead. "How do you like the world so far?"

He yawned, then settled again. I placed my finger in his fist. My heart faltered with delight at the sensation of his fluttering pulse.

"Should we go find your papa?" I asked as I kissed his forehead. "He must be looking after your sister. Let's go see."

I swung my legs out over the side of the bed. My body had recovered surprisingly well, though I felt weighted down still. As I went out the door, I found Erik coming up the stairs, his eyes raw from crying. They widened in fear upon meeting mine.

"Christine," he said in a hoarse voice. "W-why are you out of bed? The midwife said you need to rest for a week before you can be up and about-"

"I feel fine. I was a bit hungry."

"Go lie down, I'll make you something." His eyes wandered down to Thomas and his lip quivered. "What would you like?"

"My dear, you don't look at all well," I said, reaching out to stroke his face with my hand. "Have you slept? After the ordeal last night, you hardly got any sleep."

"I slept when Viola did."

"Oh, where is our little girl? Is she playing?"

"Yes, downstairs."

"And she isn't affected by what happened?"

"I doubt she can understand it. She seems fine."

"Good... oh, good. I was rather hysterical last night during the birth over her. I knew you would find her, but the anxiety of it, combined with the pain, it was overwhelming. The midwife had to give me smelling salts- but it was all fine. It went very well. Very smoothly. He wasn't even all that early... But thank you for bringing her back safely. I knew you would, but fear is never rational..." I bit my lip. "How is Laura?"

"She is being tended to. Her husband is with her."

"Good... good, thank you... Now I'll do as you say and go lie down so long as you promise me an excellent lunch and to bring Viola up to see her brother," I told him, trying to be lighthearted.

"Of course," he smiled faintly.

I pulled his lips down to mine and sighed against him. "You're absolutely wonderful, you know. Don't exhaust yourself trying to be perfect. You already are to me."

"Lord above, my dear," he said tearfully. "How can you say such things?"

He turned on his heels and went downstairs. I bent over the railing to watch him go into the kitchen.

"Erik!" I called. "Erik, please, you're tired! I don't need anything to eat yet." My stomach protested this loudly. "Come rest with me. Bring Viola up so we can all be together. Please."

Silence. I exhaled angrily and went back into bed, my eyes stinging with tears. Thomas began to fuss from the commotion.

"Oh, shh, shh, it's nothing," I told him. "Nothing at all... D-do you-? Do you want to eat? We might as well try and see what we need to do."

I eyed his lip warily, but I unbuttoned my nightgown and held his mouth up where he ought to suckle. He showed little interest. I had to coax him, hold him ever closer to me. When he did latch, nothing seemed to come out. He didn't know what to do yet, either. I pressed down a bit on my breast and he began to choke on milk. It came up his nose. I wiped it away with my sleeve as he began to wail.

"Oh, no no no no, shh, maybe we ought to try with a... a-a cloth, or something?" My hands were trembling as I dabbed up a bit of milk onto a handkerchief and placed the tip in his mouth. He sucked on it, and so I continued this endeavor, though I knew he was receiving little. He was sated quickly, and fell back asleep.

How was I supposed to feed my baby? My whole body quaked with panic. What if he couldn't eat? What if he starved?

Erik came upstairs then, Viola on his hip. There was a bit of dried peas on her cheek that he had missed. His eyes were still watery and unfocused.

"Christine?" he asked in concern as he set Viola down on the bed. "What's wrong? Why do you cry?"

"H-he can't..." But I couldn't manage to say it. "I-I tried... f-feeding him... I-I tried and..."

"He couldn't... I expected so... I-I'm... I'm sorry, my dear."

"Sorry?" I sniffled. "Sorry for what? What are you apologizing for, or are you simply pitying me? I don't need your pity, I'm fine. We'll be fine. There must be ways to help this."

"It's my fault he's like this," he said, his eyes taut with pain. "It's my fault. A-all my fault, and I was too stupid to-"

"What are you talking about? Your fault? God made this baby, not you. If we're blaming anyone, it ought to be him, but why would I blame him for giving me an otherwise healthy baby boy? We only need to speak to a doctor about his condition. Th-that's all... I panicked. I shouldn't have panicked. My mind is so excited by everything."

"I should have-"

"Should have what? What could we have done to prevent this? Nothing."

"I've cursed him-"

"Cursed him? What on earth do you mean? Yes, he'll have more difficulty in life than most, but that doesn't mean he's cursed. He's going to be so very loved, and that matters more than anything."

He nodded weakly. I reached out and clasped his hand.

"It's going to be all right," I told him. "I promise... Viola, darling, do you want to see your little brother?"

Her eyes were wide as I pulled her closer to me. I placed her hand in his, but she showed little interest, and crawled away. Erik placed her on the floor with a toy.

"We may need to go to Paris," he said softly, "to see if they can perform a surgery to help repair his mouth. I know they can at least remedy the lip, but his mouth, I... I-I don't know what all they can do."

"Surgery on a baby?" I whispered in horror. "H-how soon?"

"Better to do surgeries younger than older. Children heal more quickly... Likely soon. But we need to go to Paris. In a week, when you are recovered, we shall go."

"But you are still a wanted man."

"I can disguise myself well enough, and... damn it, you can talk to the vicomte and have him turn a blind eye. I'm sure Madame Giry would be willing to help us as well, once you explain the matter."

"Yes... yes, I think so... All right. Help me not to worry. And no more blaming yourself. Babies are born like this all the time at no fault of either parent."

"But the side of his face," he argued. "It's like mine. No patches missing, but see how warped it is-?"

"I don't want to hear it. I want to ignore his face completely unless we are speaking to a doctor."

"Ignore it?" He sighed, "If that is what you wish... I'm going to send for a doctor now. Hopefully he can come soon, but we need one experienced in this sort of thing. After I make you something to eat, I'll go. Let me bring Viola's pen up here so she can play while you rest."

"Yes, thank you... I'm mostly tired is all."

"Then rest."

He bent down to kiss my forehead, then left. I sighed.

"Let's hope this doctor brings good news," I said to Thomas. "We've had too much bad of late."

His fist unfurled in his sleep, and I wrapped it again about my finger. He was very strong already. That comforted me.

The doctor came two days later. He refused to have me come out of my room, as I had to rest for a few more days, but he spoke to Erik downstairs and examined Thomas. Erik conveyed the conversation to me, and he also told me the proper way to feed him. The doctor had given him a type of bottle that would help. There were also many successful surgeries being performed in Paris on children with this sort of deformity. He said it needed to be done as soon as possible, then the second part when he was four months old.

"He will still have a malformed lip," Erik said sadly, "but it will only be short, with a scar, not with a gap. His mouth can be mended when he is three months old at the earliest, but the doctor advised four."

"How safe is it? Will it hurt him?"

"It shouldn't hurt him. They'll give him lots of anesthesia during the operation and then we can give him drops of laudanum while he heals."

I looked down at Thomas dozing in my arms. "I don't like the idea of it. What if it fails?"

"Then they do another. There is little risk. Only the lip is mended when he is this young."

"I don't want it to hurt him."

"It won't hurt him," he insisted, combing back my hair with his hand. "It'll help him."

"All right... All right, then we must go to Paris."

"We'll take the train this time. I doubt anyone is searching for me anymore and will recognize you now."

"I look different?"

"You act different. You hold yourself differently... but that is good."

"Good... Well, then, do what you need to... Could you get me a book to read? I'm so bored up here, and all this talk about surgeries is making me anxious."

"I'll find you something. Do you want something to eat, too?"

"I'm not hungry. Tea would be nice, though."

"Tea, then."

He leaned down to kiss me. I wrapped my arm about his head to pull him closer, and our lips parted. He leaned against my chest for a moment, breathing slowly, then he rose and left.

Everything unfolded as he had said, and quite smoothly, for once in our lives. We had Clarice watch Hazel while we were gone. We planned to stay for five months in Paris so we didn't need to come back to complete each operation. My stomach writhed every time Erik brought it up, though. To help this, he spoke about our trip to Paris as a vacation.

I visited Raoul the first day to be sure Erik and I would be undisturbed. Our conversation was cold, considering the last time we had seen each other, but he congratulated me on the baby and offered anything I needed. He also explained that the police thought Erik had fled to America with me, and that he had agreed with this idea. This mended our fractured friendship considerably.

"I'm engaged," he added suddenly, "if you're curious."

"Oh, how wonderful!" I replied with enthusiasm, my heart faint with relief. "Who is the lucky woman?"

"The daughter of some cousin of my mother's sister, something of that sort. She plays the harp fairly well, and she paints, mostly flowers, sometimes the ones I leave for her."

"Do you love her?"

"She is a very nice woman, very excited about the marriage and all. I like her, and my brother thinks highly of her. I think once we are married I shall love her very much. She doesn't have your spirit, though."

"My stubbornness, you mean."

He laughed, "Yes, that."

"Perhaps you will prefer that, in the end. But I hope you two are very happy together. I always feared you would become a bachelor like your brother, and I'm so happy you have someone now. She sounds very nice- very talented, too."

He nodded, nervous as a boy. "Yes, she is... Well, goodbye, then. I regret that the last time we met was... well... but at least it's all right now. Send for me if you need anything at all."

"I will. Thank you for everything you're doing... and I forgive you for the last time we met, you know."

"I didn't, so thank you."

"I wish you happiness."

"I'm glad you've found yours."

I smiled in reply.

After speaking with him, I went to see Madame Giry and Meg. Raoul had told them I was well, but they cried nonetheless upon seeing me, and so did I. The thought of leaving them was suddenly impossible, and I told them so, but that Erik and I couldn't live in Paris for very long. They asked to visit us a few times a year, and of course I said however much they liked, and gave them the address. We all then proceeded to coo over Thomas and Viola, the latter of which was basking in all the attention.

Erik stayed at our apartment while I visited them. It had two bedrooms and a small living room and kitchen, but it was cozy. He was doing fairly well with Thomas, though still full of guilt. His sleep was tormented, our kisses becoming distant, but he cared for me and the babies well. It was his joy in life to do so now.

The only trouble with the apartment was the lack of a piano. Erik insisted he was fine, as he had his violin, but I knew it wasn't good for him.

"I have little time to compose anyway," he argued, "with you and the little ones to care for."

"Perhaps not," I replied.

The operation was performed at the end of the first week. Thomas' lip was closed successfully, but as Erik had said, it bore a white scar and was a bit short. Once it began to heal, Thomas could instantly suckle much better, though still from a bottle, not from his mother. It was my milk, but it wasn't the same. I felt something had been taken from me.

"Once he has his mouth fixed," Erik insisted, "then he will be able to nurse."

I cried anyway over the matter. Four months was a long time.

Spring came. Paris became adorned with flowers and street vendors. We celebrated Viola's birthday with Madame Giry and Meg, who bought her a cake with blue iced tulips on top. Viola's eyes widened with delight once she brought the first fist of frosting to her mouth. Her gifts consisted of a white dress embroidered with flowers and a stuffed lamb with a bell inside. Needless to say, Meg and her mother had earned Viola's love.

Erik brought me flowers everyday, the brighter the better. He had taken up working at a restaurant, playing the piano in the evenings. They thought he had come back from war and that was why he wore a mask. Their acceptance surprised him. He didn't play for others, though. That was evident when I watched him. He played for his joy and mine.

The salary was quite good. Surgeries were expensive, after all, and Erik wanted to be sure we could maintain our way of life once we paid for them.

Thomas' operation was performed in late June. Viola and I ate ice-cream outside the hospital while Erik paced within.

"You like sugar, don't you?" I told her as I wiped her lip with a napkin. My stomach was writhing with anxiety. "Your papa is going to give you too many sweets once you're old enough to ask for them."

"Baba!" she said suddenly.

Erik had come out of the hospital doors. I stood up, Viola on my hip.

"It went well," he said. "We can take him home tonight. The only issue they told me was that he will have a lisp, but perhaps when he is older, with science progressing how it is, that may be remedied."

I embraced him. "Thank God it went well! Thank God, thank God! May we see him?"

"He's sleeping. I'll stay with him, you go back home. I'll wait for when they let me take him tonight."

"I'll visit the Girys then. Oh, I'm so relieved!"

We kissed in the middle of the street, forgetting ourselves entirely.

* * *

 _May 15th, 1900_

 **ERIK**

"What do you think?" Christine asked happily, showing me her sign.

 _La femme doit voter!_

"It's very straightforward," I told her.

"It's a very straightforward cause. Nathalie is coming with me today, that's why I made two."

"Nathalie?"

"The one Thomas talks about all the time, with 'hair as golden as the sun?'"

"He was never a poet. He can write music, but certainly not lyrics."

She laughed. "Yes, poor boy. I think she likes him, though. Isn't that wonderful? Of course, he's so bright. Best in his class, they say. I wouldn't be surprised if he starts out making 1,000 francs a month. No girl in her position would scoff at that."

"His lisp, though, and his face. Young women are so concerned with appearances."

"Oh, but she's heard him play."

"You think a young woman will fall in love with him, then?"

"Of course. You don't think so? As bright and talented as he is, and as charming?"

"But he's shy. How would he even be able to ask for a woman's hand in marriage without tripping over himself?"

"Benjamin managed to ask you for Viola."

"I had pity for the imbecile."

"Oh, you," she teased, nudging my arm. "You're fond of him. Admit it."

"My hands were tied anyway, what with the baby."

She sighed, "It could have been worse, and I expected it of her. Nothing I could've said would've made any difference, and I said so much. She's so passionate. Ever since she was a girl she's been out climbing trees and picking fights like a boy. But I'm glad it was Benjamin who fell in love with her first and not some other boy. He's so good to her. Buys her flowers every day. She speaks so fondly of him... I'm excited for the baby to come, too, even under the circumstances. Do you think it'll be a boy or a girl?"

"A girl, I hope."

"I don't care either way... Oh, I'll feel so old, though! A grandchild!"

"You're only forty. Imagine how I feel."

She laughed. "I suppose so..." She glanced at her watch and gasped, "Oh! I need to leave. Clarice told me nine o'clock."

"When will you be back?" I called as she hurried out the door.

"Five, I should hope," she replied. "I love you!"

"I love you, too. Don't do anything but hold up that sign, though!"

"Twenty years of marriage and you hardly know me at all," she teased. "But I'll be a perfectly behaved protester, don't you worry."

The door shut. I chuckled as I went to put away the paint she had used. How long would it be until something actually came of her efforts? She was out once a week with great big banners and signs for "the cause." I estimated it would take twenty years at the latest. I hoped not, though. I wanted to see the accomplishment on her face, and in twenty years, I could very well be dead.

On that sad thought, Thomas came downstairs, his violin under his arm. He went over to the piano. I could tell he had put a bit of powder on his face to help decrease the warped appearance. He hardly ever did that anymore.

"Damn," he muttered as he rustled through sheet music.

"Thomas, your mother doesn't allow that sort of language," I advised halfheartedly.

"You'd be saying damn too if you were me," he retorted.

"Why would I be saying that?"

"Where the hell 's it?" he demanded of the sheet music.

"Thomas! What are you looking for?"

"The piece I wrote! Where did you put it? I left it on the piano, right here!"

"The sonata?"

"No, the waltz."

"I don't remember a waltz."

"It's important!"

I grabbed his shoulders. "What's wrong? You don't seem well."

"It's nothing," he replied, refusing my gaze.

"You just said it's important-"

"How did you get maman?"

I blinked, my arms falling to my sides. "Excuse me?"

"How did you get her?" He flushed with embarrassment. "All I have is my music, is that enough? I'm not... handsome, or-"

"I don't understand the question. Get her? She fell in love with me. I loved her before she loved me, and over time, that changed."

"But why did she love you? I mean, we're both... you know. How did she fall in love with you?"

"In all honesty... I have no idea. She saw something in me, I suppose, and we had music, that was what connected us. It just... happened. But my appearance didn't matter to her. She hardly cared after the first time we met."

"What was that like? The first time you met?"

I swallowed. "Not anything romantic at all, really."

"Did you meet on the street or something like that?"

"No. We met... beneath an opera house."

"That sounds very romantic."

"I suppose, when you say it like that..."

"Well, Nathalie likes romantic things," he continued, oblivious to anything but his lovesick heart. "That's why I wrote the song. I'm going to play it for her tonight, by her window, if I can find it... Do you think that will make her love me?"

"You can't make a woman love you. That's ridiculous. If she loves you, she loves you. If she doesn't, well... I don't know. I can't give you much advice on this matter. Your mother would be better."

"But you understand what it's like." He gestured to his face with his eyes downcast. "Did she ever not love you?"

"Oh, certainly."

"Really? Why?"

"Because I had... not done anything worth her love."

"Oh, so I need to earn Nathalie's love?"

"I suppose, in a way. But you're still very young, don't rush into things."

"I'm eighteen, Papa. Viola's already having a baby."

"Viola's different than you."

"Because she's pretty."

"Because she is a lovely young woman and Christine and I were afraid she would run off with some boy at fifteen, that's why. We were fortunate Benjamin came along before anyone else could. But you're not a young woman; you're a young man. You need to finish school and find yourself a job before you can go trying to find a wife. It's different for women."

"So you're saying because I'm ugly, I've got to go and-"

I grabbed him by the shoulders. "That word is forbidden in this house unless we're talking about the cat. What does beauty have to do with love? I love your mother more even now than I did when we first had you, and she is not as young as she was then, but I love her."

"She's still beautiful."

"Of course, but am I? Was I ever, in the normal sense? No, and yet she loves me."

"Have you met many women like that?"

"Of course not. That's why I married her. But they exist. There are good people in this world- a few, that is, only a few. You have to look very hard."

He sat down on the piano bench, his head in his hands. "How long did it take you to find maman?"

"Twenty years."

He looked up. "Oh, surely not that long?"

"It won't be like that for you, though. I have... reasons why I wasn't the most desirable partner."

"What reasons?"

"Reasons only your mother and I can know."

"Why can't I?"

"You can know when I'm dead," I said simply. "That's when you can know."

"What secret would you take to your grave? What, did you kill a man?"

He smiled at the joke. I did not.

"You didn't, though?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"I told you I wouldn't tell you anything. By denying something, that would hint as to what it is I did."

"Ha... You scared me for a moment there, but you're right."

I smiled uneasily, then patted his shoulder. "Now, let's find that waltz and practice it. Music can make anything beautiful, you know, even death... But between us, Thomas, I think Nathalie likes you. Why else does she spend so much time with your mother at those marches?"

"I thought she just liked them and needed someone to go with."

I shrugged, "Well, I know little of love. I would ask your mother when she comes home... Now, let's find that waltz of yours, but I think the sonata would be more fit for serenading a lady."

"But a waltz is so deeply felt."

"Yes, but I insist you play the sonata."

"Why?"

"Because it is your finest work. Doesn't she deserve your finest?"

He colored brightly. "Yes... I suppose I have to trust you on that... Would you... help me rehearse it, though?"

"Of course."

 _Fin_


End file.
